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BOSTON 
COMMON 


SCENES    FROM  FOUR 
CENTURIES 


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OF  CALIFORNIA 

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BOSTON  COMMON 
SCENES  FROM  FOUR  CENTURIES 


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BOSTON  COMMON 

Scenes  Jrom  Four  Centuries 

BY 
M.  A.  DeWOLFE  HOWE 


THE  ATLANTIC  MONTHLY  PRESS 
BOSTON 


COPYRIGHT,   I9IO  AND   1911,   BY   M.   A.    DE  WOLFE  HOWl 
ALL  RIGHTS  BESEKVED 


PREFACE 

T  N  1910  an  edition  of  five  hundred  and  fifty  copies  of  this  book, 
-■•  lacking  what  are  now  its  final  pages,  was  issued  from  The 
Riverside  Press.  The  author  can  ascribe  the  instant  sale  of  these 
copies  only  to  the  beautiful  form  in  which  the  book  appeared.  But 
of  any  author  it  must  be  said  that  he  is  wont  to  crave  a  wider 
audience  than  that  of  bibliophiles,  and  takes  no  special  comfort  in 
hearing  that  copies  of  his  book  have  been  picked  up  by  collectors 
at  twice  the  original  cost.  In  the  present  instance  he  has  suggested 
to  his  pubUshers  on  several  occasions  that  the  time  for  a  simpler 
edition  of  the  book,  accessible  to  the  larger  company  of  readers,  had 
come.  For  various  reasons,  probably  vahd,  they  have  never  shared 
this  view  imtil  this  moment.  Now  that  they  have  done  so,  the 
author  realizes  that  at  no  earlter  date  could  the  story  of  Boston 
Common  have  been  brought  to  so  appropriate  a  conclusion  as  that 
which  permits  a  retrosi)ect  of  those  recent  war-time  years  through 
which  it  served  a  great  and  memorable  purpose. 


.M.  A.  DeW.  H. 
Boston,  June,  1921 


CONTENTS 

I.  The  Seventeenth  Century  1 

II,  The  Eighteenth  Century  19 

III.  The  Nineteenth  Century  41 

IV.  The  Twentieth  Century  70 
Postscript,  1921-  74 
Sources  oe  Information  81 
Index  83 


ILLUSTRA.TIONS 

Bird's-Eye  View  of  Boston,  1850  Frontispiece 

Drawn  from  nature  and  on  stone  by  J.  Bachmann.  Lithographed  bj'  Sarony 
&  Major,  New  York,  and  published  by  John  Bachmann,  Greenwich  St.,  New 
York.  In  the  Boston  PubHc  Library. 

British  Troops  on  the  Common  in  1768  32 

From  a  water-color  drawing  by  Christian  Remick  made  October  1, 1768,  and 
now  in  possession  of  the  Concord  Antiquarian  Society.  Engraved  by  Sidney  L. 
Smith  and  published  by  Charles  E .  Goodspeed,  1902.  The  View  shows  encamp- 
ment of  the  29th  Regiment  with  field  pieces,  etc.,  and  was  "taken  from  the 
grove. " 

Recruiting  on  Flagstaff  Hill  in  the  Civil  War  58 

From  a  lithograph  by  J.  H.  Bufford,  Boston,  published  September  22,  1862. 
In  the  Boston  Public  Library. 

Buying  Liberty  Bonds  at  "Liberty  Court"  76 

Photographed,  1918,  by  the  International  Film  Service  Co.,  Inc. 


The  title-page  vignette  is  from  a  drawing  by  Hammatt  Billings  engraved 
for  the  title-page  of  Sprague's  Writings,  Boston,  1850.  It  shows  the 
Old  Elm  and  the  Frog  Pond  fountain. 


BOSTON    COMMON 


THE  SEVENTEENTH  CENTURY 

IF  we  look  for  accurate  topographical  description  in  the  pages  of 
poetry,  and  find  it,  we  are  inclined  to  think  either  that  the  de- 
scription is  faulty  or  that  the  poet  holds  his  title  by  a  doubtful 
tenure.  But  the  most  definitely  Bostonian  poet  has  written  about 
the  most  intimately  Bostonian  tract  of  land  with  a  precision  which 
gives  his  lines  a  value  positively  historical.  Making  all  allowances 
for  the  fact  that  Dr.  Holmes's  description  of  Boston  Common  in 
1630  is  a  poetical  description,  and  therefore  in  some  measure  im- 
aginative, it  opens  one's  eyes  to  the  essential  aspect  of  the  Common 
at  the  very  beginning  of  things,  so  far  as  white  men  are  concerned, 
on  what  the  ancient  town  records  called  "this  Neck  of  Land  of 
Boston";  and  it  may  well  stand  at  the  forefront  of  any  attempt 
to  recall  the  scenes  with  which  the  Common  has  been  associated:  — 

1630 
All  overgrown  with  bush  and  fern. 

And  straggling  clumps  of  tangled  trees, 
With  trunks  that  lean  and  boughs  that  turn. 

Bent  eastward  by  the  mastering  breeze,  — 
With  spjongy  bogs  that  drip  and  fill 

A  yellow  pond  with  muddy  rain. 
Beneath  the  shaggy  southern  hill 

Lies  wet  and  low  the  Shawmut  plain. 


2  Boston  Common 

And  hark!  the  trodden  branches  crack; 

A  crow  flaps  off  with  startled  scream; 
A  straying  woodchuck  canters  back; 

A  bittern  rises  from  the  stream; 
Leaps  from  his  lair  a  frightened  dear; 

An  otter  plunges  in  the  pool;  — 
Here  comes  old  Shawmut's  pioneer. 

The  parson  on  his  brindled  bull. 

The  eastward-bending  trees  represent  the  observation  of  no  mere 
visitor,  misled  by  the  Boston  east  winds  and  their  reputation,  but 
the  experience  of  one  who  has  himself  weathered  the  northwesterly- 
gales  beating  upon  the  Common  directly  from  the  water  that  long 
bordered  its  outer  slope.  If  the  seasoned  inhabitant  appears  in  this 
allusion,  the  local  antiquary  stamps  himself  upon  the  reference  to 

oM  Shawmut's  pioneer, 
Tlie  parscHi  on  his  brindled  buQ. 

It  is  a  picturesque  tradition  that  the  sole  settler  of  the  Boston 
promontory,  found  upon  it  when  Winthrop  and  his  followers  ar- 
rived in  1630,  used  to  ride  about  the  place  on  the  back  of  one  of  his 
cattle.  Some  of  the  streets  in  Boston  are  reputed  to  have  been  laid 
out  by  the  cows,  and  who  shall  say  that  the  present  paths  in  the 
Common  may  not  have  been  traced  originally  by  the  Reverend 
William  Blaxton's  (or  Blackstone's)  bull?  Certain  it  is  that  this 
English  clergyman  showed  hospitable  instincts  at  the  first.  He  it 
was  who  went  to  Winthrop  in  Charlestown,  where  the  first  colonists 
were  suffering  from  lack  of  good  water,  and  advised  their  moving 
across  to  the  peninsula  of  Shawmut,  abounding  in  excellent  springs. 
They  came,  and  four  years  later,  in  1634!,  Blaxton,  who  had  fled 


The  Seventeenth  Century  3 

from  home  to  escape  the  lord-bishops,  felt  that  he  must  flee  still 
farther  into  the  wilderness  from  the  "lord-brethren."  But  before 
going  he  sold  to  the  town  the  piece  of  land  which  had  been  set  aside 
for  his  perpetual  possession,  reserving  only  a  lot  of  about  six  acres, 
the  boundaries  of  which  have  long  been  obliterated  by  the  houses 
between  Beacon  and  Pinckney  Streets  in  one  direction  and  Spruce 
Street  and  the  water-margin  near  Charles  Street  in  the  other.  The 
land  which  the  town  acquired  ran  eastward  somewhat  beyond  the 
present  line  of  Park  Street,  extended  on  the  southerly  side  to  what 
is  now  Mason  Street,  and  in  the  direction  of  Park  Square  of  modem 
times  did  not  reach  quite  so  far  as  at  present.  But  it  was  virtually 
the  Common  of  forty-eight  and  two  fifths  acres  which  has  come 
down  to  us,  with  minor  changes  of  outUne  and  extent. 

To  pay  for  it  the  town  raised  the  sum  of  thirty  pounds,  by  a  tax 
of  six  shillings  and  upwards  levied  on  every  householder.  This  in- 
expensive acquisition  was  rendered  thrice  secure  to  the  colonists  as 
a  body,  by  the  royal  grant  of  all  the  land  on  which  they  settled, 
and  by  deeds  of  purchase  and  of  confirmation  from  Indian  sachems 
whose  rights  to  it  were  thus  superseded.  We  learn  from  the  deposi- 
tion of  four  aged  men  in  1684,  describing  the  purchase  from  Blaxton, 
that  thereupon  "the  Town  laid  out  a  place  for  a  trayning  field; 
which  ever  since  and  now  is  used  for  that  purpose  &  for  the  feeding 
of  Cattell."  There  was  at  first  some  talk  about  dividing  this  land 
amongst  the  inhabitants,  but  the  town  records  for  March  30,  1640, 
contain  this  entry:  "Also  agreed  upon  that  henceforth  there  shalbe 
noe  land  granted  eyther  for  hous-plott  or  garden  to  any  person  out 
of  the  open  ground  or  Comon  Feild  Which  is  left  betweene  the 


4  Boston  Common 

Gentry  Hill  &  Mr.  Colbrons  end;  Except  3  or  4  Lotts  to  make  up 
the  streete  from  bro.  Robte.  Walkers  to  the  Round  Marsh."  ^  What 
the  people  had  acquired  they  proposed  to  hold  sacred  to  the  purposes 
of  the  community. 

The  references  to  the  Common  in  the  town  records  of  the  early 
years  have  much  to  do  with  its  use  as  a  pasture.  It  is  ordered,  for 
example,  "that  there  shalbe  kept  on  the  Common  bye  the  Inhab- 
itants of  the  Towne  but  70  milch  kine;  .  .  .  that  ther  shalbe  no  dry 
cattell,  yonge  Cattell,  or  horse  shalbe  free  to  goe  on  the  Common 
this  year  [1646];  but  on  horse  for  Elder  Oliver;  .  .  .  that  if  any  desire 
to  kep  sheep,  hee  may  kep  foure  sheep  in  hew  of  a  Cow,"  The  right 
of  commonage  was  restricted  closely  to  "those  who  are  admitted 
by  the  townesmen  to  be  inhabitants."  None  who  came  after  1646 
could  have  the  right  of  commonage,  "unless  he  hier  it  of  them  that 
are  Comoners."  A  keeper  of  the  cows  pastured  on  the  Common  was 
named  from  time  to  time,  receiving  at  first  "two  shillings  a  Cowe"; 
and,  for  the  benefit  of  those  who  elected  to  keep  sheep  "in  liew"  of 
a  cow,  a  shepherd  was  subsequently  appointed. 

Carefully  as  the  live  stock  was  guarded,  it  appears  that  the  Com- 
mon required  protection  from  those  who  made  a  random  distribution 
of  "intralls  of  beast  or  fowles  or  garbidg  or  Carion,  or  dead  dogs  or 
Catts  or  any  other  dead  beast  or  stinkeing  thing";  for  in  1652  these 
offenders  were  "injoynened  to  bury  all  such  things  that  soe  they 
may  prevent  all  annoyanc  unto  any."  It  was  bad  enough  to  annoy 
"any";  to  annoy  the  Common  itself  was  more  like  annoying  the 
chief  magistrate  or  the  Reverend  John  Cotton.  Accordingly,  five 

*  This  exception  had  to  do  with  land  m  the  neighborhood  of  the  present  Park  Square. 


The  Seventeenth  Century  c 

years  after  the  enjoinder  against  using  the  Common  for  refuse  was 
issued,  the  town  government  adopted  a  more  stringent  regulation :  — 

"  WTiereas,  the  comon  is  att  times  much  anoyed  by  casting  stones 
outt  of  the  bordering  lotts,  and  other  things  that  are  offensive:  Itt 
is  therefore  ordered  that  if  any  person  shall  hereafter  any  way  annoy 
the  comon  by  spreading  stones  or  other  trash  upon  itt,  or  lay  any 
carrion  upon  itt,  every  person  so  offending  shall  bee  fined  twenty 
shillings." 

All  this  care  of  the  Common  had  for  its  object  something  more 
than  the  well-being  of  cows  and  sheep.  The  use  of  the  land  as  a 
training-field  for  the  militia  must  not  be  forgotten.  The  annual 
spring  pageants  provided  by  the  review  of  the  school-boys'  brigade, 
and,  still  more,  of  the  Ancient  and  Honorable  Artillery  Company, 
typify  the  close  Unk  between  the  present  and  the  past;  for  both  tlie 
Latin  School  and  the  "Ancients"  are  vigorous  survivals  from  the 
earliest  days  in  Boston.  The  alternative  names  of  Sentry  or  Beacon 
Hill,  the  eminence  from  which  the  Common  slopes  away,  have  in- 
deed a  military  suggestion  and  significance.  If  we  may  believe 
Edward  Johnson,  writing  in  1654,  all  the  Boston  hills,  of  which 
Beacon  Hill  was  the  most  conspicuous,  partook  of  this  miUtary 
character.  "All  three  like  overtopping  Towers  keepe  a  constant 
watch  to  fore-see  the  approach  of  forein  dangers,  being  furnished 
with  a  Beacon  and  lowd  babling  Guns,  to  give  notice  by  their  re- 
doubled eccho  to  all  their  Sister-townes." 

One  of  the  very  earliest  glimpses  of  the  training-field  gains  some- 
thing of  its  picturesqueness  from  the  presence  of  foreign  troops  side 
by  side  with  the  local  mihtia.   In  1643  La  Tour,  seeking  the  aid  of 


6  Boston  Common 

Winthrop  and  his  people  against  a  rival  governor  of  Acadia,  came 
to  Boston.  The  pages  of  Parkman  which  describe  the  visit  reveal 
a  company  of  French  soldiery  joining  with  the  Boston  trained-band 
in  its  drill  on  a  muster-field,  which  the  historian  calls  "probably 
the  Common."  The  Boston  men  in  steel  hats  and  buff  coats  ac- 
quitted themselves  handsomely  in  the  morning.  In  the  afternoon 
the  Frenchmen  had  their  innings,  and  provided  a  sensation  for  which 
the  spectators  were  not  prepared.  This  was  a  sham  charge.  Sword 
in  hand,  the  visitors  made  it  so  suddenly  that  the  women  who  looked 
on,  catching  perhaps  the  spirit  of  those  who  feared  a  Popish  con- 
spiracy of  some  sort,  took  it  for  a  true  assault  and  were  accordingly 
alarmed.  This,  however,  did  not  prevent  the  peaceful  withdrawal 
of  La  Tour's  men  to  his  ship. 

A  single  recognizable  figure  brings  the  similitude  of  life  to  any 
picture.  In  that  rich  gallery  of  ancient  Boston  scenes,  the  diary  of 
Samuel  Sewall,  such  a  figure  is  found,  and  with  it  a  characteristic 
glimpse  of  a  May  training  as  far  back  as  1677.  "I  went  out  this 
morning,"  wrote  the  diarist,  "without  private  prayer  and  riding  on 
the  Comon,  thinking  to  escape  the  Souldiers  (because  of  my  fearful! 
Horse);  notwithstanding  there  was  a  Company  at  a  great  distance 
which  my  Horse  was  so  transported  at  that  I  could  no  way  govern 
him,  but  was  fain  to  let  him  go  full  speed,  and  hold  my  Hat  under 
my  Arm.  The  wind  was  Norwest "  —  and  the  bad  cold  which  the 
Puritan  John  Gilpin  contracted  may  well  have  been  ascribed  to  the 
omission  of  his  morning  devotions. 

There  is  still  another  aspect  of  the  Common,  neither  martial  nor 
farm-like,  reflected  in  the  description  of  Boston  which  John  Josselyn 


The  Seventeenth  Century  j 

published  in  London  in  1675.  "On  the  South,"  he  wrote,  "there  is 
a  small  but  pleasant  Common,  where  the  Gallants  a  little  before 
Sunset  walk  with  their  3/arma/eMMadams,  as  we  do  in  Moorfields, 
etc.,  till  a  nine  a  clock  Bell  rings  them  home  to  their  respective  hab- 
itations, when  presently  the  Constables  walk  their  rounds  to  see 
good  orders  kept;  and  to  take  up  loose  people."  It  is  well  thus  to 
be  reminded  that  there  were  Gallants  among  the  seventeenth- 
century  Puritans  of  Boston,  and  that  some  provision  was  made  for 
hours  of  relaxation.  There  are  not  many  such  reminders,  for  the 
good  reason  that  the  subduing  of  nature,  as  it  spread  about  them 
in  the  wilderness  and  appeared  within  them  as  a  thing  to  be  subdued 
with  all  the  rigors  of  Calvinistic  theology,  left  Uttle  time  for  anything 
else. 

The  Common  may  be  regarded  as  the  centre  of  the  outdoor  stage 
on  which  many  characteristic  dramas  of  local  life  have  been  enacted. 
Each  century  has  had  its  typical  dramas.  In  the  first  of  our  Boston 
centuries  the  typical  thing  was  Puritanism,  the  straitest  New  Eng- 
land sect  of  it,  with  an  unyielding  certainty  of  right  on  its  own  side, 
and  of  wrong  in  all  who  disagreed.  The  completest  protestant  is 
never  an  entirely  logical  creature,  for  he  cannot  endure  any  protest 
against  his  own  forms  of  practice  and  belief.  The  most  disturbing 
protestants  against  the  Boston  protestantism  of  the  seventeenth 
century  were  undoubtedly  the  Quakers,  who  made  their  first  ap- 
pearance here  less  than  thirty  years  after  the  settlement  of  the  town. 
There  is  no  question  that  they  presented  a  diflScult  problem.  The 
testimony  they  felt  called  upon  to  bear  in  support  of  the  truth  as 
they  saw  it  was  directed  equally  against  the  civil  and  the  reUgious 


8  Boston  Common     ^ 

order  —  in  so  far  as  the  two  elements  could  be  separated.  Naturally 
such  disturbers  of  the  local  peace  were  not  wanted,  and  the  fact  was 
promptly  writ  clear  upon  the  statutes.  Fines  were  imposed  upon 
citizens  who  harbored  them.  Severe  measures  were  taken  to  drive 
them  out,  and  if  they  insisted  upon  returning,  whipping,  clipping 
of  the  ears,  and  even  borings  of  the  tongue  with  hot  irons  were 
promised  as  celebrations  of  the  event.  The  records  of  the  community 
are  not  stained  by  the  exaction  of  these  penalties  upon  the  tongue. 
Such  punishments,  however,  would  have  been  mild  in  comparison 
with  those  which  actually  were  inflicted  in  carrying  out  the  laws 
passed  at  the  time  of  highest  animosity  against  banished  Quakers 
who  presumed  to  come  back.  It  was  ordered  that  they  should  pay 
the  penalty  of  death;  and  because  the  Common  has  been  regarded 
traditionally  as  the  scene  of  the  execution  of  four  Quakers,^  the 

*  Mr.  M.  J.  Canavan  in  a  paper  read  May  17, 1910,  before  the  Bostonian  Society, 
has  held  that  these  executions  did  not  take  place  upon  the  Common.  The  strong- 
est indications  that  they  did  not  are  (l)  the  fact  that  many  executions  in  the 
earliest  days  occurred  on  Boston  Neck,  where  they  gave  the  name  to  Gallows 
(later  South)  Bay;  (2)  that  in  one  of  the  earliest  tracts  describing  Mary  Dyer's 
execution,  the  statement,  adopted  by  Besse,  is  made  that  she  was  marched  about  a 
mile  from  the  place  of  her  imprisonment  to  the  place  of  execution;  (S)  that  Samuel 
Sewall,  driving  in  1685  to  Dorchester,  saw,  "  going  thither,"  the  place  where  the 
Quakers  were  executed:  it  does  not  appear  how  direct  his  route  to  Dorchester  was, 
or  that  he  surely  avoided  the  Common;  and  (4)  that  the  journal  of  Thomas  Story,  a 
Quaker  traveller  to  Boston  in  1699,  describes  the  gallows  on  which  the  Quakers  were 
executed,  and  seems  to  place  it  where  the  town  gallows  is  known  to  have  stood,  on 
the  southerly  outskirts  of  the  settlement.  On  the  side  of  the  accepted  and  frequently 
repeated  placing  of  the  hangings  on  the  Common  is  the  nearest  approach  to  a  positive 
statement  on  the  subject  that  I  have  found  in  the  early  records.  Bishop's  book,  pub- 
lished immediately  after  the  execution,  says,  in  describing  the  events  of  October  17, 
1659.  that  Wilson  and  others  "  met  them  [the  prisoners]  in  your  Train-6eld,"  where 
*  he  fell  a  Taunting  at  W.  Robinson,"  apparently  just  before  Robinson  went  up  the 
ladder.  In  many  other  early  tracts  the  place  is  described  merely  as  "  the  place  of 
Execution."  That  the  Common  was  frequently  used  for  executions  from  the  begin- 
ning till  1818  there  appears  to  be  do  doubt  (See  Shurtleff,  p.  S52.) 


T^he  Seventeenth  Century  9 

circumstances  of  their  death  may  be  described  in  some  detail.  The 
temper  of  seventeenth-centmy  Boston  is  somewhat  clearly  revealed 
in  the  episode. 

The  fullest  records  of  the  executions  were  made  by  writers  in 
sympathy  with  the  Quakers.  There  was  evidently  some  sympathy 
with  them  in  Boston  on  the  part  of  those  who  were  neither  law- 
makers nor  annalists  —  namely,  the  mass  of  the  people.  The  dep- 
uties to  the  General  Court,  the  true  representatives  of  the  people, 
were  more  friendly  to  them  than  the  magistrates  and  the  clergy,  the 
powers  actually  in  control,  and  it  is  hardly  strange  that  these  au- 
thorities failed  to  leave  us  the  fullest  story  of  what  in  the  end  was 
sure  to  reflect  small  credit  upon  them.  Chiefly,  then,  from  such 
books  as  George  Bishop's  "New  England  Judged  by  the  Spirit  of 
the  Lord"  (London,  1661  and  1667),  and  Joseph  Besse's  two  works, 
"Abstract  of  the  Sufferings  of  the  People  called  Quakers  "(London, 
1733-38),  and  "Collection  of  the  Sufferings  of  the  People  called 
Quakers"  (London,  1753),  we  may  learn  something  of  what  took 
place  when  the  four  Quaker  victims  went  to  their  death.  The  precise 
nature  of  their  offenses  and  of  the  processes  by  which  they  were 
brought  to  execution  are  aside  from  the  present  purpose. 

Three  executions  were  planned  for  the  day  on  which  the  first  two 
took  place.  This  was  October  27,  1659.  After  the  Thursday  Lec- 
ture, the  midweek  break  in  the  monotony  of  non-attendance  at  the 
meeting-house,  a  company  of  two  hundred  soldiers  imder  Captain 
James  Oliver,  "with  Drumes  and  Cofours  and  Halberds,  Guns, 
Swords,  Picks  and  half-picks,"  as  one  chronicler  has  it,  escorted 
Marmaduke  Stevenson  of  Yorkshire  and  WilHam  Robmson,  a 


lo  Boston  Common 

London  merchant,  from  the  jail,  and  Mary  Dyer  from  the  House  of 
Correction,  to  the  place  of  execution,  for  the  punishment  incurred 
by  their  returning  from  exile.  The  large  guard  was  a  precaution 
against  interference  by  the  people,  many  of  whom  felt  that  matters 
had  gone  too  far.  The  three  Quakers  walked  hand  in  hand,  Mary 
Dyer  between  the  two  men.  The  drums  were  placed  so  near  them 
in  the  procession  that  if  they  should  try  to  speak  their  voices  could 
easily  be  drowned.  Their  enemies,  however,  succeeded  in  taunting 
them.  To  Mary  Dyer,  no  longer  a  young  woman,  but  of  good  estate 
in  Rhode  Island,  where  many  of  her  descendants  have  attained  dis- 
tinction, the  marshal,  Michaelson,  put  the  question,  "Are  you  not 
ashamed  to  walk  hand  in  hand  between  two  young  men?" 

"No,"  she  answered;  "this  is  to  me  an  hour  of  the  greatest  Joy 
I  could  enjoy  in  this  World.  No  Eye  can  See,  no  Ear  can  hear,  no 
Tongue  can  speak,  no  Heart  can  understand  the  sweet  Incomes  and 
Refreshings  of  the  Spirit  of  the  Lord  which  now  I  enjoy." 

Robinson  and  Stevenson  managed  to  make  themselves  heard: 
"This  is  your  Hour,  and  the  Power  of  Darkness";  and  "This  is  the 
Day  of  your  Visitation,  wherein  the  Lord  hath  visited  you."  \Mien 
they  neared  the  gallows-tree  —  reputed  in  the  traditional  versions 
of  the  grim  story  to  be  the  Elm  near  the  Frog  Pond,  which  grew  to 
be  Great  and  Old  until  a  storm  in  1860  destroyed  its  beauty  and 
another  in  1876  laid  it  low  —  they  had  to  encounter  the  Reverend 
John  Wilson,  "your  old  bloody  Priest  Wilson,  your  High-Priest  of 
Boston,"  as  George  Bishop  called  him.  This  Quaker  historian  re- 
porU  Wilson  as  having  said  in  a  sermon:  "He  would  carry  Fire  in 
one  Hand,  and  Faggots  in  the  other,  to  Burn  all  the  Quakers  in  the 


The  Seventeenth  Century  ii 

World."  When  the  Quakers  were  on  trial  it  was  Wilson  —  according 
to  Bishop  —  who  gave  as  his  advice,  "  'Hang  them,  or  else'  (drawing 
his  Finger  athwart  his  Throat,  so  making  Signs  for  it  to  be  cut,  if  ye 
did  not)."  No  words  of  comfort,  then,  were  to  have  been  expected 
from  him  or  the  "others  of  his  Brethren  in  Iniquity"  with  whom  he 
stood.  "Instead  of  having  a  sense  upon  him,  suitable  to  such  an 
Occasion,"  wrote  Bishop,  "and  as  usual  with  Men  of  any  Tender- 
ness, he  fell  a  Taunting  at  W.  Robinson,  and  shaking  his  hand  in  a 
Hght  scoffing  manner,  said,  'Shall  such  Jacks  as  you  come  in  before 
Authority  with  your  Hats  on?'  with  many  other  taunting  words. 
To  which  W.  Robinson  replied,  'Mind  you,  mind  you,  it  is  for  the 
not  putting  off  the  Hat,  we  are  put  to  Death.'  " 

The  manner  of  execution  appears  to  have  been  most  simple.  A 
rope  tied  to  a  limb  of  the  tree  is  said  to  have  been  fastened  also  round 
the  victim's  neck  as  he  stood  on  the  lower  rungs  of  a  ladder  leading 
to  this  Umb.  When  he  chmbed  to  the  top  of  the  ladder,  it  was  sud- 
denly drawn  from  under  him. 

If  the  condemned  Quakers  had  deserved  such  a  fate,  it  is  hard 
to  believe  that  they  could  have  met  it  with  the  fortitude  they 
showed.  Bishop's  account  of  their  bearing  recalls  that  of  the  Chris- 
tian martyrs  canonized  for  holiness  and  courage:  "So,  being  come 
to  the  place  of  Execution,  Hand  in  Hand,  all  three  of  them,  as  to 
a  Weding-day,  with  great  cheerfulness  of  Heart,  and  having  taken 
leave  of  each  other,  with  the  dear  Embraces  of  one  another,  in  the 
Love  of  the  Lord,  your  Executioner  put  W.  Robinson  to  Death, 
and  after  him  M.  Stevenson."  The  final  words  of  Robinson,  bound 
hand  and  foot,  with  a  neckcloth  tied  about  his  face,  are  recorded: 


12  Boston  Common 

**  I  suffer  for  Christ  in  whom  I  live,  and  for  him  I  die."  "So  he 
being  turned  off  "  —  in  the  words  of  one  of  the  annalists  —  "M.  S. 
went  up  and  spake  to  the  People,  saying,  'Be  it  known  unto  all 
this  day  that  we  suffer  not  as  evil-doers  but  for  Conscience  sake'; 
then  he  being  bound  according  to  the  former  manner,  as  the  exe- 
cutioner was  about  to  turn  him  off  the  Ladder,  he  uttered  these 
words,  saying,  'this  day  shall  we  be  at  rest  with  the  Lord.'  "  The 
words  ascribed  to  them  are  not  identical  in  the  various  narra- 
tives, in  one  of  which  Wilson,  "this  old  Priest  in  much  Wickedness," 
has  the  last  word,  crying  out:  "Hold  thy  Tongue,  be  silent.  Thou 
art  going  to  Dye  with  a  Lye  in  thy  Mouth." 

Still  another  victim,  Mary  Dyer,  waited  her  turn.  All  the  exalta- 
tion, or  the  heroism,  of  martyrdom  was  needed  to  carry  her  to  the 
end  of  the  day's  work.  With  her  two  dead  friends  before  her  eyes, 
she  came  to  the  foot  of  the  ladder,  where  her  arms  were  bound,  her 
skirts  fastened  about  her  feet,  a  handkerchief,  lent  by  Wilson,  was 
tied  over  her  face  for  a  covering,  the  hangman's  rope  placed  round 
her  neck.  So  she  cUmbed  upward  "to  be  turned  off"  —  in  Besse's 
favorite  phrase  —  when  a  messenger  brought  word  that  a  reprieve, 
secured  by  her  son,  had  been  ordered.  This  was  done  without  her 
knowledge,  and  when  she  was  loosed,  and  desired  to  come  down,  she 
stood  where  she  was,  waiting  to  know  what  the  Lord  would  have  her 
do.  Having  given  herself  up  to  die,  her  "mind  was  already  as  it 
were  in  heaven,"  and  she  said,  "She  was  there  willing  to  suffer  as 
her  Brethren  did,  unless  they  would  annul  their  wicked  Law."  — 
"Pull  her  down!"  cried  the  people,  ready  to  drag  both  ladder  and 
victim  to  the  ground.  But  the  chief  marshal  and  others  took  her 


The  Seventeenth  Century  13 

by  the  arms,  and  led  her  back  to  prison,  whence  she  was  soon  sent 
into  Rhode  Island. 

The  barbarities  of  the  day,  however,  were  not  quite  ended,  for 
the  ropes  from  which  the  bodies  of  Robinson  and  Stevenson  hung 
were  cut,  and  the  fall  to  earth  broke  Robinson's  skull.  "Their  shirts 
were  ripped  off  with  a  knife,  and  their  naked  Bodies  cast  into  a  Hole 
of  the  Earth,  which  was  digged,  without  any  covering;  and  when 
some  friends  came  and  desired  their  Bodies  to  be  put  into  CoflBns, 
and  so  into  some  inclosed  Ground,  where  Beasts  might  not  turn 
them  up,  your  Executioner  suffered  them  to  wrap  them  in  Linnen 
and  to  put  them  in  again;  but  to  take  them  away,  he  suffered  them 
not,  saying,  He  was  strictly  charged  to  the  contrary."  When  Bishop 
goes  on  to  say  that  Wilson  "made  a  Ballad  of  those  whom  ye  had 
martyr 'd,"  one  is  ready  to  defer  acceptance  of  the  statement  imtil 
some  antiquarian  brings  the  ballad  to  light.  It  was  counted  one  of 
the  "providences"  of  the  day,  by  those  in  sympathy  with  the  Quak- 
ers, that  as  the  great  crowd  of  sightseers  was  returning  home  across 
the  drawbridge  which  connected  what  is  now  the  North  End  with 
the  rest  of  the  town,  the  structure  "rose  up  and  one  end  of  it  fell 
upon  many,  especially  a  wicked  Woman  who  reviled  the  Servants 
of  the  Lord  at  their  death,  whom  it  greatly  bruised,  and  her  flesh 
Rotted  from  her  bones":  —  further  details  are  omitted  here. 

For  Mary  Dyer  to  return  again  to  Boston  was,  in  the  eyes  of 
reason,  sheer  fanaticism.  But  reason  had  little  to  do  with  her  course 
or  with  that  of  the  Boston  authorities.  In  May  of  1660,  about  seven 
months  after  her  deHverance  from  death,  she  came  back  to  court  it 
6nce  more.  Again  a  band  of  soldiers,  on  June  1,  marched  her  to  the 


14  Boston  Common 

gallows.  Again  the  drums  before  and  behind  her  prevented  the 
people  from  hearing  what  she  might  say.  The  record  in  Besse's 
book  preserves  a  spirited  dialogue  at  the  very  gallows.  It  repro- 
duces so  vividly  a  significant  scene  long  associated  with  Boston 
Common  that  it  may  well  be  given  entire. 

"Being  gone  up  the  Ladder,  some  said  to  her,  That  if  she  would 
return  she  might  come  down  9.nd  save  her  Life :  To  which  she  repHed, 
*Nay,  I  cannot,  for  in  Obedience  to  the  Will  of  the  Lord  I  came,  and 
in  his  Will  I  abide  faithful  to  Death.'  Then  Capt.  John  Webb  said, 
That  she  had  been  there  before,  and  had  the  Sentence  of  Banishment 
upon  pain  of  Death,  and  had  broken  the  Law  in  coming  again  now; 
and  therefore  she  was  guilty  of  her  own  Blood.  To  which  she  re- 
turned, 'Nay,  I  come  to  keep  Bloodguiltiness  from  you,  desiring 
you  to  repeal  the  unrighteous  and  unjust  Law  of  Banishment  upon 
pain  of  Death,  made  against  the  Innocent  Servants  of  the  Lord; 
therefore  my  Blood  will  be  required  at  your  hands,  who  wilfully 
do  it:  But  for  those  that  do  it  in  the  SimpUcity  of  their  Hearts,  I 
desire  the  Lord  to  forgive  them:  I  came  to  do  the  Will  of  my  Father, 
and  in  Obedience  to  his  Will  I  stand  even  to  Death.'  Then  Priest 
Wilson  said,  *  Mary  Dyer,  O  repent,  O  repent,  and  be  not  so  deluded 
and  carried  away  by  the  Deceit  of  the  Devil.'  To  this  Mary  Dyer 
answered,  'Nay,  then,  I  am  not  now  to  repent':  And  being  asked  by 
some,  whether  she  would  have  the  Elders  pray  for  her?  She  said, 
*I  know  never  an  Elder  here.*  Being  farther  ask'd.  Whether  she 
would  have  any  of  the  People  pray  for  her?  She  answered,  She  desired 
the  Prayers  of  all  the  People  of  God.  Thereupon  some  scoffing  said, 
*It  may  be  she  thinks  there  are  none  here.'  She  looking  about  said. 


The  Seventeenth  Century  ir 

*I  know  but  few  here.'  Then  they  spoke  to  her  again,  That  one  of 
the  Elders  might  pray  for  her.  To  which  she  replied,  'Nay,  first  a 
child,  then  a  young  Man,  then  a  strong  Man,  before  an  Elder  in 
Christ  Jesus.'  After  this  she  was  charg'd  with  something  which  was 
not  understood  what  it  was,  but  she  seemed  to  hear  it;  for  she  said: 
*  Its  false;  Its  false,  I  never  spoke  those  words.'  Then  one  mentioned, 
that  she  should  have  said,  she  had  been  in  Paradise.  To  which  she 
answered,  'Yea,  I  have  been  in  Paradise  these  several  Days,'  and 
more  she  spoke  of  the  eternal  Happiness  into  which  she  was  now  to 
enter.  In  this  well  dispos'd  Condition  she  was  turned  off,  and  died 
a  Martyr  of  Christ,  being  twice  led  to  Death,  which  the  first  time 
she  expected  with  undaunted  courage  and  now  suffer'd  with  Chris- 
tian Fortitude." 

After  the  death  of  Mary  Dyer,  there  was  still  another  Quaker,  one 
William  Leddra,  hung  like  his  three  fellow  believers.  This  last  of 
the  series  of  hangings  took  place  March  14,  1661.  The  records  of 
what  was  said  and  done  bear  a  close  resemblance  to  those  of  the 
other  executions.  The  same  courage  and  constancy  of  faith  shone 
forth.  When  one  of  Leddra's  speeches  moved  the  people  to  sym- 
pathy, "this  was  observed,"  says  Besse,  "by  one  Allen,  a  Priest, 
there  present,  who  to  quench  that  Tenderness,  cried  out,  'People,  I 
would  not  have  you  think  it  strange,  to  see  a  Man  wilhng  to  die,  for 
it  is  no  new  Thing;  and  you  may  read  how  the  Apostle  saith,  "That 
some  should  be  given  up  to  strong  Delusions,  and  even  dare  to  die 
for  it."  '  Though  the  Text  doth  not  say  so,  but  the  bUnd  Zeal  of  the 
Man  hurried  him  into  a  perversion  of  the  Scripture."  As  the  halter 
was  placed  round  Leddra's  neck,  he  said:  "I  commend  my  righteous 


1 6  Boston  Common 

cause  unto  thee,  O  God";  and,  at  the  very  last:  "Lord  Jesus,  receive 
my  spirit." 

The  story  of  Leddra's  death  has  one  illumination  which  the  other 
narratives  lacked  —  the  letter  of  an  eye-witness  writing  immediately 
after  the  event.  Thomas  Wilkie,  a  stranger  in  Boston,  saw  the 
execution,  and  wrote  thus  about  it  to  "Mr.  (Jeo.  Lad,  Master  of  the 
America  of  Dartmouth,  now  at  Barbadoes": 

"Boston,  March  ike  9Joih,  1C61. 
...  "I  saw  then,  when  the  man  was  on  the  ladder,  he  looked  on 
me,  and  called  me  friend,  and  said,  'Know  that  this  day  I  am  to 
offer  up  my  life  for  the  witness  of  Jesus.*  Then  I  desired  leave  of 
the  officers  to  speak,  and  said,  *  Gentlemen,  I  am  a  stranger  both  to 
your  persons  and  country,  and  yet  a  friend  of  both.'  And  I  cried 
aloud,  'for  the  Lord's  sake,  take  not  away  the  man's  life,  but  remem- 
ber GamaHel's  counsel  to  the  Jews:  if  this  be  of  man  it  will  come  to 
naught;  but  if  it  be  of  God,  you  cannot  overthrow  it;  but  be  careful 
ye  be  not  found  fighting  against  God.'  And  the  captain  said,  'Why 
had  you  not  come  to  the  prison.'  The  reason  was  because  I  heard 
the  man  might  go  if  he  would,  and  therefore  I  called  him  down  from 
the  tree,  and  said,  'Come  down,  WilUam,  you  may  go  if  you  will.' 
Then  Capt.  Oliver  said,  'It  was  no  such  matter,'  and  asked,  what 
had  I  to  do  with  it,  and  bid  me  be  gone.  And  I  told  them  I  was 
willing,  for  I  could  not  endure  to  see  this.  And  when  I  was  in  the 
town,  some  did  seem  to  sympathize  with  me  in  my  grief,  but  I  told 
them,  that  they  had  no  warrent  from  the  word  of  God,  nor  precedent 
from  our  country,  nor  power  from  his  Majesty,  to  hang  the  man. 
"Your  friend,  Thomas  Wilkie." 


The  Seventeenth  Century  17 

The  sympathy  with  the  grief  of  this  stranger  in  Boston  was  not 
the  only  evidence  of  a  better  feeling.  When  Leddra  was  dead,  and 
the  executioner  cut  him  down,  four  of  the  victim's  friends  were  al- 
lowed to  catch  him  in  their  arms.  The  executioner  stripped  the 
body  of  its  clothing,  but  the  friends  "were  suffered  to  put  it  into  a 
CoflBn,  and  bury  it  where  they  thought  meet,  a  piece  of  Humanity 
owing  not  to  the  Inclinations  of  the  Persecutors,  but  to  the  Outcry 
of  the  People  against  the  Barbarity  used  to  the  dead  Bodies  of  the 
two  men  who  were  put  to  Death  before." 

As  the  reader  was  cautioned  to  look  upon  Dr.  Holmes's  picture 
of  the  Common  in  1630  as  a  bit  of  poetical  description,  so  he  must 
be  sure  to  remember  that  the  foregoing  account  of  the  executions 
is  drawn  from  the  narratives  of  the  Quaker  annalists,  and  to  make 
due  allowances  for  this  circumstance.  His  own  reflection,  however, 
will  probably  convince  him  that  the  general  truth  of  the  story  is  to 
be  accepted.  The  important  fact  is  that  in  1659,  1600,  and  1661 
four  Quakers  were  executed  in  Boston,  because  they  were  Quakers. 
In  the  face  of  this  record,  credulity  is  not  overtaxed  to  beheve  that 
in  detail  the  authorities  and  the  victims  would  have  behaved  very 
much  as  Bishop,  Besse,  and  the  others  say  they  did.  For  us  of  the 
twentieth  century,  rejoicing  that  the  Common  has  become  some- 
thing better  than  a  training-field,  something  quite  other  than  a 
cow-pasture,  something  still  more  unlike  the  theatre  of  cruelties 
which,  begun  and  continued,  might  have  made  the  Great  Elm  and 
Tyburn  Tree  synonyms  of  shame,  the  important  matter  is  to  recall, 
as  best  we  may,  some  of  the  uses,  highly  characteristic  of  a  seven- 
teenth-century settlement,  to  which  it  has  been  beUeved  that  the 


i8  Boston  Common 

Common  was  originally  put.  If  we  would  join  in  a  single  memory 
the  pastoral,  the  military,  and  the  tragic  employments  of  the  Com- 
mon, let  us  bring  to  mind  the  inglorious  ending  of  General  Hum- 
phrey Atherton,  a  famous  soldier  in  his  day.  As  he  was  riding  home 
from  the  Common,  after  a  military  training  in  1661,  his  horse  shied 
at  a  cow,  threw  him  to  the  ground,  and  dashed  out  his  brains.  The 
Quakers,  of  whom  he  had  been  "a  daring  and  hardened  persecutor," 
could  not  refrain  from  pointing  to  his  death  as  "a  shocking  instance 
of  the  divine  vengeance." 


E 


n 

THE  EIGHTEENTH  CENTURY 
NTRANCE   of    the   Eighteenth   Century,"   wrote    Samuel 


Sewall  in  the  margin  of  his  diary  for  "Jan''  1,  ^."  The 
record  for  the  day  reads:  "Just  about  Break-a-day  Jacob  Ams- 
den  and  3  other  Trumpeters  gave  a  Blast  with  the  Trumpets  on 
the  comon  near  Mr.  Alford's.  Then  went  to  the  Green  Chamber, 
and  soimded  there  till  about  sunrise.  Bell-man  said  these  verses 
a  httle  before  Break-a-day,  which  I  printed  and  gave  them.** 
The  verses  themselves  are  set  down  in  the  margin  —  and  pretty 
IX)or,  though  very  pious,  they  are.  They  need  not  be  given  here; 
but  it  is  well  to  recall  the  manner  in  which  the  first  new  century 
in  Boston  was  annoimced  —  solemnly,  religiously,  and  on  the 
Common. 

The  blast  of  the  trumpet  must  have  been  a  famihar  soimd  on 
the  training-field.  With  the  martial  note  the  religious  was  fre- 
quently blended.  Sewall  more  than  once  mentions  prayer  at  the 
trainings.  Apparently  it  was  not  always  eflBcacious.  On  October 
6,  1701,  he  wrote:  "Go  to  prayer.  March  down  and  Shoot  at  a 
Mark.  ...  By  far  the  most  missed,  as  I  did  at  the  first."  John 
Dunton,  in  his  "Letters  written  from  New-England,"  tells  of  a 
training  in  1686  when  the  captain  called  the  troops  into  close  order 
for  prayer,  and  prayed  himself.  "Solemn  Prayer  in  the  Field, 
upon  a  Day  of  Training,"  remarked  Dunton,  "I  never  knew  but  in 
New-England." 


20  Boston  Common 

Carried  over  from  the  seventeenth  into  the  eighteenth  century, 
another  custom  in  which  the  Common  was  involved  savored  more 
of  the  boisterous  intolerance  of  the  time  than  of  the  sincerities  in 
religious  behef.  This  was  the  celebration  of  November  5,  "Pope 
Day,"  when  the  "gunpowder  treason  and  plot"  gave  the  occasion 
for  noisy  demonstrations  which  bore  their  evidence  to  the  oneness 
of  Ufe  in  Boston  and  in  England.  In  Sewall  —  again  —  before  the 
seventeenth  century  was  ended,  we  find  fifty  persons  attending  a 
bonfire  on  the  Common  one  rainy  November  5;  the  next  evening 
being  fair,  about  two  himdred  "hallowed"  about  it.  In  the  ensuing 
century  the  celebration  evidently  became  more  elaborate.  Some 
of  its  aspects  at  the  eve  of  the  Revolutionary  period  are  note- 
worthy. By  that  time  two  rival  Pope  Day  processions,  fi;om  the 
North  and  the  South  Ends,  were  customary.  In  each  there  were 
eflBgies  of  the  Pope,  the  Pretender,  and  the  Devil,  so  arranged  that 
boys  mounted  on  platforms  could  put  them  through  certain  motions. 
When  the  two  processions  met,  as  they  were  sure  to  do,  a  rough-and- 
tumble  fight  for  the  effigies  took  place.  There  were  broken  pates 
and  bloody  noses,  but  a  victory  for  either  side  was  worth  winning. 
If  the  North-Enders  won  it,  the  spoils  of  the  battle  were  taken 
to  Copp's  Hill  and  burned.  If  the  South-Enders  won,  the  Pope, 
the  Pretender,  and  the  Devil  went  up  in  smoke  from  the  Common. 
From  John  Rowe's  diary  we  learn  that  in  1766  there  were  even 
three  papal  processions.  In  1774  the  patriot  leaders  brought  the 
North  and  South  End  factions  to  the  harmonious  support  of  a 
common  cause,  the  country,  and  for  the  celebration  of  the  last 
Pope  Day  in  Boston,  the  rivals  joined  their  forces  —  as  if  with 


The  Eighteenth  Century  21 

a  premonition  of  organized  labor  in  the  years  to  come  —  for  the 
single  celebration  of  a  "Union  Pope." 

The  burning  of  a  pretended  Pretender  was  an  advance  upon  the 
hanging  of  mortal  Quakers.  But  there  remained  other  tragic  uses 
for  what  should  have  been  a  peaceful  plot  of  ground.  The  duel 
between  Captain  Thomas  Smart  and  John  Boydell,  which  took 
place  one  forenoon  in  1718,  had  no  more  serious  immediate  results 
than  the  wounding  of  one  of  the  duellists  in  the  arm,  the  fining  of 
both  of  them,  and  their  imprisonment  for  twenty-four  hours.  Not 
so  the  duel  in  1728  between  Benjamin  Woodbridge  and  Henry 
Phillips,  two  young  men  of  excellent  place  in  the  community.  They 
quarrelled  over  cards  one  night  at  a  tavern-club,  took  their  quarrel 
to  the  hill  on  which  the  Soldiers'  Monument  now  stands,  and  fought 
with  small  swords.  Phillips  ran  Woodbridge  through  the  body,  and 
left  him  to  die  on  the  Common  before  morning.  By  this  time  he 
himself,  with  the  aid  of  his  brother  and  his  kinsman  Peter  Faneuil, 
had  found  refuge  in  the  British  man-of-war  Sheerness,  just  saihng 
for  France.  He  died  there  within  a  year,  broken  with  grief.  Who- 
ever will  walk  past  the  Granary  Burying  Ground  slowly  enough  to 
read  through  the  palings  the  few  inscriptions  within  reading  dis- 
tance, will  find  that  one  of  them  stands  over  the  grave  of  poor  yoimg 
Woodbridge.  The  Autocrat  and  the  Schoohnistress  set  the  example 
for  such  an  inspection;  and  if  there  are  any  who  would  rather  think 
that  Woodbridge's  quarrel  was  not  about  cards,  they  may  take  the 
Autocrat's  word  for  it:  "Love  killed  him,  I  think  . . .  Yes,  there 
must  have  been  love  at  the  bottom  of  it. 

Another  tragedy  of  the  same  year  was  the  drownmg  of  two  boys. 


22  Boston  Common 

George  and  Nathan  Howell,  in  the  "Back  Bay,"  at  the  foot  of  the 
Common.  The  possibiUty  of  skating  where  the  Public  Garden  now 
encompasses  a  mere  artificial  pond  was,  of  course,  extended  far  into 
the  century  after  this  accident.  But  there  is  one  point  about  the 
calamity  which  both  "places"  it  in  time,  and  reminds  us  again  of 
the  unity  between  Old  and  New  England.  The  news  of  the  drown- 
ing was  commimicated  to  Dr.  Isaac  Watts,  who,  with  a  sympathy 
proper  to  the  p>oet  of  childhood  and  faith,  made  the  "sharp  and  sur- 
prising stroak  of  Providence"  the  subject  of  a  letter  of  condolence 
to  the  mother  of  the  two  boys. 

But  the  drama  of  the  Common  at  this  time  was  not  invariably 
tragic.  In  the  autumn  of  1740,  for  example,  we  find  it  used  as  the 
gathering-place  for  the  thousands  who  wished  to  hear  the  young 
English  preacher  George  Whitefield,  and  could  not  be  accommo- 
dated within  the  meeting-houses.  A  newspaper  of  the  times  es- 
timates the  crowds  that  listened  to  him  there  as  ranging  from  five 
thousand  on  one  of  the  early  days  of  his  visit  to  twenty-three 
thousand  at  the  last  —  and  this  at  a  time  when  the  total  popula- 
tion of  Boston  was  about  eighteen  thousand.  What  the  people 
escaped  by  going  from  the  churches  to  the  Common  may  be  gath- 
ered from  the  account  in  the  "Boston  Weekly  News-Letter,"  for 
September  18-25,  1740,  of  the  happenings  on  September  22:  — 

"Last  Monday  in  the  Afternoon,  the  Revd.  Mr.  Whitefield  in- 
tending to  preach  in  the  Revd.  Mr.  Checkley*s  Meeting-House 
[the  "New  South"],  at  the  South  part  of  the  Town,  just  before 
the  Time  when  the  Service  was  to  begin,  some  Noise  happened  by 
the  breaking  a  Piece  of  Board  in  one  of  the  Gallerys  by  some  to 


The  Eighteenth  Century  23 

make  a  Seat  of;  it  was  given  out  by  some  imprudent  Person,  that 
the  Gallerys  gave  way,  (tho'  there  was  no  Danger  thereof,)  the  House 
being  prodigiously  crowded,  the  whole  Congregation  was  put  intc 
the  utmost  Confusion  and  Disorder;  so  that  being  in  the  greatest 
Concern  how  to  save  their  Lives,  some  jump'd  ofiF  of  the  Gallery 
into  the  Seats  below,  others  out  of  the  Windows;  and  those  below 
pressing  to  get  out  of  the  Porch-Doors  in  hast,  several  were  thereby 
thrown  down  one  over  another,  and  trod  upon  by  those  that  were 
crowding  out,  whereby  many  were  exceedingly  bruis'd  and  others 
had  their  Bones  broke:  But  what  is  most  sorrowful.  Two  married 
Women  in  Town,  viz.,  Mrs.  Storey  &  Mrs.  Ingersole,  and  a  Servant 
Lad  were  so  crush'd  that  they  dyed  a  few  Minutes  after;  and  on 
Tuesday  Mrs.  Shepard  a  Widow  of  good  Repute  in  Town,  and  Mrs. 
Ruggles  a  married  Woman  died  also  of  the  Bruises  they  received 
by  the  Crowd;  and  some  others  we  hear  are  so  much  Hurt,  that 
it  is  to  be  feared  they  cannot  recover." 

No  wonder  that  the  Conmaon  was  a  grateful  refuge.  The  very 
magnitude  of  the  crowds  that  flocked  there  doubtless  added  — 
through  the  psychology  of  multitudes  —  to  the  power  of  the  preach- 
er's words.  To  the  saying  of  a  Boston  minister  of  the  time,  that 
under  WTiitefield's  influence  "negroes  and  boys  left  their  rudeness," 
may  well  be  added  an  anecdote  of  which  Wendell  Phillips  is  said 
to  have  made  effective  use  in  a  political  speech.  The  story  runs  that 
at  the  time  of  W^hitefield's  preaching  on  the  Common  —  though  at 
a  moment  when  some  one  else  was  speaking  —  a  white  man  found 
a  negro  on  the  outskirts  of  the  crowd,  rolling  on  the  groimd,  crying 
out,  "Oh,  Massa  WTiitefield!  Massa  Whitefield!"  and  giving  all  the 


24  Boston  Common 

evidences  of  a  con\action  of  sin.  The  white  man  stopped  and  told 
the  negro  it  was  not  Whitefield  but  quite  another  person  who  was 
preaching.  Shamefaced  the  negro  picked  himself  up  and  said,  "Oh, 
den  I'se  gone  dirtied  myself  all  for  nothin*." 

In  the  "Boston  Weekly  News-Letter"  for  October  9-16,  1740, 
may  be  found  "A  Particular  Account  of  the  several  Collections 
made  for  the  Orphan-House  in  Georgia,"  containing  an  item  of 
£200,  15«.  6^.  collected  on  the  Common.  The  total,  from  some  six- 
teen sources  in  and  about  Boston,  was  over  twenty-eight  hundred 
pounds  —  a  testimony  perhaps  as  striking  as  that  of  the  rolling 
negro,  and  of  Franklin  in  his  "Autobiography,"  to  the  persuasive- 
ness of  the  EngUsh  preacher.  Fifty  years  later,  in  1790,  the  Rever- 
end Jesse  Lee  preached  Methodism  so  eloquently  under  the  Great 
Elm  of  the  Common  that  he  could  be  compared  with  none  but 
Whitefield. 

Another  peaceful  employment  of  the  Common  is  associated  with 
the  episode  in  Boston  history  which  has  come  down  to  us  under 
the  name  of  the  "Spinning  Craze."  Before  1720  the  Scotch-Irish 
emigrants  to  New  England  brought  with  them  an  enthusiasm  for 
spinning  which  was  not  carried  wholly  into  New  Hampshire,  but 
bore  some  of  its  fruits  in  Boston.  Spinning-schools  were  estab- 
lished. A  large  building  on  the  present  Hamilton  Place  was  devoted 
to  the  industry.  "Spinning-wheeles,"  says  one  of  the  chroniclers 
of  the  period,  "were  then  the  hobby-horses  of  the  Publick."  Li 
1749  a  society  for  promoting  industry  and  frugality  was  established. 
An  account  of  its  fourth  anniversary  celebration,  taken  from  the 
"Boston  Evening  Post"  of  August  13,  1753,  gives  the  outlines  of  a 


The  Eighteenth  Century  25 

scene  of  unusual  picturesqueness:  "Wednesday  last  being  the  annual 
Meeting  of  the  Society  for  encouraging  Industry  and  employing  the 
Poor,  the  Rev.  Mr.  Cooper  of  this  Town,  preached  an  excellent 
Sermon  before  them,  and  a  vast  Assembly  of  other  Persons  of  all 
Ranks  and  Denominations,  in  the  Old-South  Meeting-House,  from 
those  Words  in  1  Corinthians  13.  5  Charity  seeketh  not  her  own.  — 
After  Sermon  £453  old  Tenor,  was  collected  (besides  the  Subscripn 
tion  Money  of  the  Society)  for  the  further  promoting  that  laudable 
Undertaking.  In  the  Afternoon,  about  300  Spinners,  all  neatly 
dressed,  and  many  of  'em  Daughters  of  the  best  FamiUes  in  Town, 
appeared  on  the  Common,  and  being  placed  orderly  in  three  Rows, 
at  Work,  made  a  most  dehghtful  Appearance.  —  The  Weavers  also, 
(cleanly  dress'd  in  Garments  of  their  own  weaving)  with  a  Loom, 
and  a  young  Man  at  Work,  on  a  Stage  prepared  for  that  Purpose, 
carried  on  Men's  Shoulders,  attended  by  Musick,  preceded  the 
Society,  and  a  long  Train  of  other  Gentlemen  of  Note,  both  of 
Town  and  Country,  as  they  walked  in  Procession  to  view  the  Spin- 
ners; and  the  Spectators  were  so  numerous,  that  they  were  com- 
pared by  many,  to  one  of  Mr.  Wkitefield's  Auditories,  when  he 
formerly  preached  here  on  the  Common."  It  would  have  been  too 
much  to  expect  the  long  continuance  of  so  lively  an  interest  in  the 
domestic  arts,  and  the  "Spinning  Craze"  was  short-lived. 

A  visitor  to  Boston  in  1740  —  one  Joseph  Bennett,  some  of  whose 
observations  have  been  printed  by  the  Massachusetts  Historical 
Society  —  notes  the  results  of  the  first  plantation  of  trees  in  the 
Common,  which,  but  for  the  Great  Elm  and  two  other  trees,  was 
through  all  its  early  history  an  unshaded  field.  "For  their  domestic 


26  Boston  Common 

amusements,"  says  Bennett,  "every  afternoon,  after  drinking  tea, 
the  gentlemen  and  ladies  walk  the  Mall.  .  .  .  WTiat  they  call  the 
Mall  is  a  walk  on  a  fine  green  common  adjoining  to  the  south-west 
side  of  the  town.  It  is  near  half  a  mile  over,  with  two  rows  of  young 
trees  planted  opposite  to  each  other,  with  a  fine  footway  between, 
in  imitation  of  St.  James's  Park;  and  part  of  the  bay  of  the  sea 
which  encircles  the  town,  taking  its  course  along  the  north-west  side 
of  the  Common,  —  by  which  it  is  bounded  on  the  one  side,  and  by  the 
country  on  the  other,  —  forms  a  beautiful  canal,  in  view  of  the  walk." 

These  trees,  forming  the  first  of  the  Malls  on  the  Common,  stood 
on  what  is  now  the  Tremont  Street  border.  The  first,  the  outer  row, 
was  set  out,  according  to  Samuel  Adams  Drake,  between  1723  and 
1729,  the  second  in  1784.  A  third  row  has  been  said  by  some  to 
have  been  planted  before  the  Revolution,  but  Drake  and  Shurtleff 
give  the  time  in  the  eighties  of  the  eighteenth  century.  Until  the 
nineteenth  was  well  under  way,  there  was  no  Mall  except  this  one 
along  the  present  Tremont  Street. 

The  very  barrenness  of  the  Common  contributed  to  its  value 
for  military  purposes  —  and  it  was  to  these  purposes,  in  the  eight- 
eenth century,  that  it  was  most  characteristically  devoted.  Its 
uses  as  a  training-field,  a  drill-ground,  were  of  course  continuous. 
As  early  as  1709  we  find  these  uses  Uberally  extended  by  a  young 
English  army  oflficer,  Paul  Mascarene,  commanding  an  artillery 
company  recruited  at  the  time,  who  threw  up  small  earthworks  at 
the  foot  of  the  Common,  and  drilled  his  men  at  artillery  practice. 
But  far  greater  extensions  were  still  to  come,  converting  the  Com- 
mon into  a  camp  first  for  friendly,  then  for  hostile  troops. 


The  Eighteenth  Century  27 

The  War  of  the  Revolution  so  overshadows  the  other  military 
activities  of  the  eighteenth  century  in  America  that  it  is  easy  to 
forget  the  conflicts  with  the  French  to  the  northward,  and  the  part 
which  Boston  played  in  them.  But  before  the  Revolution  Sir  Wil- 
liam Pepperell's  expedition  against  Louisburg,  in  1745,  seemed 
an  undertaking  of  the  first  magnitude.  It  was  but  natural  for  the 
three  thousand  soldiers  who  sailed  with  him  to  have  camped,  before 
starting,  on  the  Common.  Early  in  July  the  news  of  the  fall  of 
Louisburg  reached  Boston.  The  joy  of  the  people  knew  no  bounds, 
and  the  celebration  of  the  victory  was  by  no  means  confined  to  the 
Common.  Neither  is  the  following  account  of  it,  taken  from  the 
"Boston  Evening  Post"  of  July  8,  1745.  But  the  large  bonfire  for 
the  "less  polite,"  and  the  "good  liquor"  served  on  the  Common, 
should  not  be  torn  from  their  graphic  context:  — 

"As  Capt.  Bennet  arrived  in  the  Night,  he  first  carried  the  General 
and  Commodore's  Dispatches  to  His  Excellency,  then  at  Dorchester, 
and  on  his  Return,  communicated  the  joyful  tidings  to  the  Hon. 
Col.  Wendell's  Company  of  Militia,  then  on  Duty  as  a  miUtary 
Watch,  who,  (not  able  longer  to  conceal  their  Joy)  about  4  o'Clock, 
alarm'd  the  Town,  by  firing  their  Guns  and  beating  their  Drums, 
and  before  five,  all  the  Bells  in  the  Town  began  to  ring,  and  con- 
tinued ringing  most  part  of  the  Day.  The  Inhabitants  thus  agree- 
ably surprised  laid  aside  all  thoughts  of  Business,  and  each  one 
seem'd  to  strive  to  out-do  his  Neighbour  in  Expressions  of  Joy. 
Many  Persons  who  were  gone  to  Cambridge' to  be  present  at  the 
Commencement,  came  to  Town  to  rejoice  with  us,  as  did  many 
others  from  the  Country,  and  the  Day  was  spent  in  firmg  of  Can- 


28  Boston  Common 

non,  feasting,  and  drinking  of  Healths,  and  in  preparing  Fire-works, 
&c.  against  the  Evening.  And  to  add  to  the  Pleasures  of  the  Day, 
Col.  Pollard  and  his  Company  of  Cadets  were  under  Arms,  and  made 
a  very  fine  Appearance.  Now  the  Churl  and  the  Niggard  became 
generous,  and  even  the  Poor  forgot  their  Poverty,  and  in  the  Eve- 
ning the  whole  Town  appeared  as  it  were  in  a  Blaze,  almost  every 
House  being  finely  illuminated.  In  some  of  the  principal  Streets 
were  a  great  variety  of  Fire-Works,  and  curious  Devices  for  the 
Entertainment  of  the  almost  numberless  Spectators,  and  in  the 
Fields  were  several  Bonfires  for  the  diversion  of  the  less  Polite, 
besides  a  large  one  in  the  Common,  where  was  a  Tent  erected,  and 
plenty  of  good  Uquor  for  all  that  would  drink.  In  a  Word,  never 
before,  upon  any  Occasion,  was  observed  so  universal  and  unaflPected 
a  Joy;  nor  was  there  ever  seen  so  many  Persons  of  both  Sexes  at  one 
Time  walking  about,  as  appeared  that  Evening,  the  Streets  being 
as  light  as  Day,  and  the  Weather  extremely  pleasant.  And  what 
is  very  remarkable,  no  ill  Accident  happened  to  any  Person,  nor  was 
there  any  of  those  Disorders  committed,  which  are  too  common 
[on]  such  Occasions." 

In  September  of  the  following  year,  1746,  the  fear  of  the  French 
fleet,  the  destruction  of  which  is  the  theme  of  one  of  Longfellow's 
best  ballads,  brought  sixty-four  hundred  men  of  the  provincial 
militia  into  camp  on  the  Common.  Again,  in  1758,  when  the  "Old 
French  War"  was  drawing  to  a  close,  a  considerable  army,  about 
forty-five  hundred  men,  returning  from  Louisbiu*g  under  General 
JefiFrey  Amherst,  took  the  Common  for  its  camping-place  in  Boston. 
"Between  SO  and  40  Transports,"  said  the  "Boston  Evening  Post" 


The  Eighteenth  Century  29 

of  Monday,  September  18,  1758,  "which  came  out  under  Convoy 
of  the  Captain  Man  of  War,  are  also  arrived,  having  on  board  the 
2d  Battalion  of  Royal  Scots,  General  Forbes's,  Lascelle's,  and  Webb's 
Regiments,  and  also  Eraser's  Highlanders;  they  arrived  here  in  good 
Health,  and  were  all  disembarked  on  Thursday  Morning  and  en- 
camped on  the  Common;  and  on  Saturday  Morning  they  decamped 
and  proceeded  on  their  March  for  Lake  George.** 

Through  the  second  decade  after  this  first  appearance  of  royal 
troops  on  the  Common,  the  place  was  to  know  them  well  —  all  too 
well,  the  traditional  Bostonian  would  have  said.  The  red  coats  of 
the  soldiery  gave  the  Common  its  most  distinctive  color  in  the 
eighteenth  century.  They  did  not  come  with  the  v-ery  first  occasions 
for  active  discontent  with  the  rule  of  the  Crown.  The  news  of  the 
Stamp  Act  of  1765  arrived  before  them,  and  they  were  not  here 
when  the  repeal  of  the  act  was  joyfully  celebrated  on  the  Common 
in  1766.  The  "Boston  Post-Boy  and  Advertiser"  for  Monday, 
May  26,  1766,  describes  the  scene:  "Friday  se'nnight  to  the  in- 
expressible Joy  of  all  we  received  by  Capt.  Coffin,  the  important 
News  of  the  Repeal  of  the  Stamp  Act,  which  was  signed  by  His 
Majesty  the  18th  of  March  last.  ...  In  the  Evening  the  whole 
Town  was  beautifully  illuminated!  —  On  the  Common  the  Sons  of 
Liberty  erected  a  magnificent  Pyramid,  illuminated  with  280  Lamps: 
The  four  upper  Stories  of  which  were  ornamented  with  the  Figures 
of  their  Majesties,  and  fourteen  of  the  worthy  Patriots  who  have 
distinguished  themselves  by  their  Love  of  Liberty.  .  .  . 

"On  the  Top  of  the  Pyramid  was  fix'd  a  round  Box  of  Fireworks 
horizontally.  About  one  hundred  Yards  from  the  Pyramid  the  Sons 


^o  Boston  Common 

of  Liberty  erected  a  Stage  for  the  Exhibition  of  their  Fireworks, 
near  the  Work-House,  in  the  lower  Room  of  which  they  entertained 
the  Gentlemen  of  the  Town.  John  Hancock,  Esq.;  who  gave  a 
grand  and  elegant  Entertainment  to  the  genteel  Part  of  the  Town, 
and  treated  the  Populace  with  a  Pipe  of  Madeira  Wine,  erected  at 
the  Front  of  his  House,  which  was  magnificently  illuminated,  a 
Stage  for  the  Exhibition  of  his  Fireworks,  which  was  to  answer  those 
of  the  Sons  of  Liberty:  At  Dusk  the  Scene  opened  by  the  Discharge 
of  twelve  Rockets  from  each  Stage;  after  which  the  Figures  on  the 
Pyramid  were  uncovered,  making  a  beautiful  Appearance.  —  To 
give  a  Description  of  the  great  Variety  of  Fireworks  exhibited  from 
this  Time  till  Eleven  o'clock  would  be  endless  —  the  Air  was  fill'd 
with  Rockets  —  the  Ground  with  Bee-hives  and  Serpents  —  and 
the  two  Stages  with  WTieels  of  Fireworks  of  various  sorts.  ...  At 
Eleven  o'clock  the  Signal  being  given  by  a  Discharge  of  21  Rockets, 
the  horizontal  Wheel  on  the  Top  of  the  Pyramid  or  Obelisk  was 
play'd  off,  ending  in  the  Discharge  of  sixteen  Dozen  of  Serpents  in 

the  Air,  which  concluded  the  Shew The  Pyramid,  which  was 

designed  to  be  placed  under  the  Tree  of  Liberty,  as  a  standing 
Monument  of  this  glorious  ^ra,  by  accident  took  Fire  about  One 
o'clock,  and  was  eonsum'd." 

Regarding  this  celebration  of  the  welcome  Repeal,  John  Rowc, 
a  Boston  merchant,  wrote  in  his  diary  for  May  19,  1766:  "Mr. 
Hancock  behaved  very  well  on  this  occasion  &  treated  every  Person 
with  Cheerfulness.  I  contributed  as  much  to  General  Joy  as  Any 
Person.  The  whole  was  much  admired  &  the  day  CrowTied  with 
Glory  &  honour."  Who  can  help  wondering  in  what  form  Mr.  Rowe's 
contribution  to  "General  Joy"  expressed  itself? 


The  Eighteenth  Century  31 

The  joy  was  short-lived.  In  the  very  next  year,  1767,  the  tax 
on  tea  was  imposed,  and  discontent  became  general.  There  were 
many  expressions  of  it,  and  naturally  the  Common  was  the  back- 
gromid  for  one  of  the  most  spectacular  of  them.  On  Friday,  June  10, 
1768,  the  revenue  officials  seized  a  sloop  belonging  to  John  Hancock 
—  a  proceeding  which  excited  high  indignation  among  the  people 
gathered  on  the  shore.  Their  conduct  is  described  in  the  "Boston 
Gazette  and  Country  Journal"  of  Monday,  June  20,  1768:  "About 
10  o'clock  they  went  to  one  of  the  Docks,  and  dragged  out  a  large 
Pleasure-Boat  belonging  to  the  Collector,  this  they  drew  along  the 
Street  with  loud  huzzaing  all  the  way,  into  the  Common,  where 
they  set  Fire  to  it,  and  burnt  it  to  Ashes;  they  also  broke  several 
Windows  of  the  Houses  of  the  Collector  and  Inspector-General, 
which  were  nigh  the  Common."  Governor  Bernard,  describing 
the  occurrence  in  a  letter,  said  that  the  boat-burners  "got  some 
rum,  and  attempted  to  get  more;  if  they  had  procured  it  in  quantity 
God  knows  where  this  fury  would  have  ended!" 

Manifestly  the  time  was  at  hand  for  the  stricter  exercise  of 
authority  in  Boston.  The  royal  troops  must  come,  and  the  Common 
must  receive  them.  On  September  30,  1768,  two  regiments,  the 
14th  and  the  29th,  landed  at  Long  Wharf,  marched  up  King  [State] 
Street,  and  thence  to  the  Common.  The  29th  encamped  there,  and 
in  the  evening  the  14th  proceeded  to  Faneuil  Hall  and  was  admitted. 
From  this  time  up  to  the  evacuation  of  Boston  by  the  British, 
March  17,  1776,  the  Common  was  almost  constantly  a  place  of 
encampment.  Regiments  were  coming  and  going  —  even  as  the 
first-comers,  the  14th  and  the  29th,  were  obliged  after  the  Tea 


32  Boston  Common 

Party,  in    fulfilment  of  Adams's   demand,   "Both  regiments   or 

none,"  to  go  to  the  Castle.  But  the  records  are  richer  in  comings. 

These  continued  up  to  June  15,  1775,  only  two  days  before  Bunker 

Hill.  They  could  be  fully  catalogued  if  any  useful  present  purpose 

were  so  to  be  served.   Even  so  long  before  Lexington  and  Bunker 

Hill  as  August  21,  1774,  Lord  Percy  wrote  home:  "I  ha\'e  under  my 

command,  the  4th,  5th,  38th,  &  43rd  Reg'*,  together  with  22  pieces 

of  cannon  &  3  co*.  of  artillery  encamped  on  the  Gammon"  — 

besides  other  troops  on  Fort  Hill.  On  the  Common,  in  these  most 

crowded  days,  a  population  equal  to  that  of  a  goodly  village  was 

gathered  under  canvas.  It  was  a  stirring  scene  and  in  a  companion 

picture  to  that  of  Boston  Common  in  1630  Dr.  Holmes  has  drawn 

it  vividly:  — 

1774 

The  streets  are  thronged  with  trampling  feet. 

The  northern  hill  is  ridged  with  graves. 
But  night  and  mom  the  drum  is  beat 

To  frighten  down  the  "rebel  knaves." 
The  stones  of  King  Street  still  are  red. 

And  yet  the  bloody  red-coats  come: 
I  hear  their  pacing  sentry's  tread. 

The  click  of  steel,  the  tap  of  drum. 
And  over  all  the  open  green, 

\Vhere  grazed  of  late  the  harmless  kine. 
The  cannon's  deepening  ruts  are  seen. 

The  war-horse  stamps,  the  bayonets  shine. 
The  clouds  are  dark  with  crimson  rain 

Above  the  murderous  hirelings'  den, 
And  soon  their  whistling  showers  shall  stain 

The  pipe-clayed  belts  of  Gage's  men. 


00 
CO 


The  Eighteenth  Century  33 

Such,  in  general,  was  the  spectacle.  Perhaps  we  shall  see  it  the 
more  clearly  for  attempting  to  fill  in  some  of  the  details  of  the  pic- 
ture. The  darker  tints  are  frequent  enough.  Let  us  seize  at  once, 
then,  upon  the  bright  color  almost  invariably  associated  with  the 
Reverend  Mather  Byles,  the  Tory  minister  of  the  Hqllis  Street 
Church,  inveterate  punster  and  Doctor  of  Divinity  by  favor  of  the 
University  of  Aberdeen.  In  L.  M.  Sargent's  enlivening  "Dealings 
with  the  Dead"  the  following  glimpses  of  the  waggish  clergyman  on 
the  Common  may  be  foimd:  "From  the  time  of  the  stamp  act,  in 
1765,  to  the  period  of  the  Revolution,  the  cry  had  been  repeated, 
in  every  form  of  phraseology,  that  our  grievances  should  be  redressed. 
One  fine  morning,  when  the  multitude  was  gathered  on  the  Common 
to  see  a  regiment  of  red  coats  paraded  there,  who  had  recently 
arrived  —  *  Welly  said  the  doctor,  gazing  at  the  spectacle,  */  think 
we  can  no  longer  complain  that  our  grievances  are  not  red-dressed* 
*Truey  said  one  of  the  laughers  who  were  standing  near,  'hut  you 
have  tvx)  d's.  Dr.  Byles.*  —  *To  he  sure,  sir,  I  have,*  the  doctor  in- 
stantly replied,  *I  had  them  from  Aberdeen,  in  1765.*  " 

K  such  flippancy  was  possible  in  the  face  of  the  soldiery,  it  is 
pleasant  also  to.  know  that  the  bucolic  uses  of  the  Common  were 
not  immediately  stopped.  In  the  "Boston  Gazette"  for  July  17, 
1769,  there  is  a  notice  of  a  small  Red  Cow,  "Strayed  away  from  the 
Common."  With  a  truly  revolutionary  handling  of  the  language 
of  England,  the  notice  ends:  "Whosoever  hath  or  shall  stop  said 
Cow,  are  desired  to  inform  the  Printers  hereof,  and  they  shall  be 
Rewarded  for  their  Trouble." 

Hardly  more  than  a  month  of  camp  life  on  the  Common  had 


34  Boston  Common 

passed,  when  a  soldier,  Richard  Ames,  in  spite  of  the  intercession 
of  Boston  ladies,  was  shot  as  a  deserter  and  buried  where  he  fell. 
Other  military  executions  of  desertion  are  recorded.  In  the  "Bos- 
ton Evening  Post,"  for  Monday,  September  12,  1774,  we  find,  for 
example:  "Last  Friday  Morning,  one  Valentine  Ducket,  a  Deserter 
from  the  65th  Regiment,  now  at  Hahfax,  was  Shot  in  the  Rear  of 
the  Camp  in  the  Common,  pursuant  to  the  Sentence  of  a  Court 
Martial."  And  in  the  "Diary  of  a  British  OflScer,"  said  to  be  Lieu- 
tenant John  Barker  of  the  4th  (King's  Own)  Regiment  of  Foot, 
there  is  the  cheerless  little  entry  for  Saturday,  December  24, 1774: 
"Bad  day;  constant  snow  till  evening,  when  it  turned  out  rain  and 
sleet.  A  Soldier  of  the  10th  shot  for  desertion;  the  only  thing  done 
in  remembrance  of  Christ-Mass  Day." 

The  people  of  Boston  were  not  given  then,  as  they  are  now,  to 
Christmas  celebrations.  Other  habits  have  had  a  longer  continu- 
ance. As  early  as  March  of  1769  the  Selectmen  appointed  a  Com- 
mittee to  consider,  as  other  committees  have  so  often  considered 
since  then,  the  best  measures  for  "the  preservation  of  the  Com- 
mon." It  was  one  thing  to  keep  their  own  cattle  on  it;  quite  another 
to  have  the  soldiers  use  it  for  Sunday  horse-racing.  The  towns- 
people, however,  even  after  the  troops  were  long  established  there, 
continued  to  employ  it  for  some  of  their  own  purposes.  A  strange 
use  of  it  took  place  on  the  last  Wednesday  of  May,  1770.  The 
annual  ceremonies  attending  the  election  of  His  Majesty's  Council 
by  the  General  Court  were  transferred,  contrary  to  all  precedent, 
from  Boston  to  Cambridge.  The  General  Court  gathered  there, 
the  Election  Sermon  was  preached  by  the  Reverend  Samuel  Cooke; 


The  Eighteenth  Century  35 

but  certain  "friends  to  the  liberties  of  North  America"  contrived 
to  have  the  people  themselves  gather  in  Boston,  largely  on  the 
Common.  The  "Boston  Gazette  and  Country  Journal"  for  Mon- 
day, June  4,  1770,  describes  the  events  of  the  day:  "The  Tklorning 
was  ushered  in  with  Musick  parading  the  Streets,  and  an  Ox, 
which  on  the  Afternoon  before  was  conveyed  thro'  the  Town  deco- 
rated with  Ribbons,  Flowers,  &c.  was  early  put  to  the  Fire  at  the 
Bottom  of  the  Common;  the  Novelty  of  an  Ox  roasting  whole, 
excited  the  Curiosity  of  the  People,  and  incredible  Numbers  from 
this  and  the  neighbouring  Towns  resorted  to  the  Spot,  to  view  so 
unusual  a  Spectacle."  There  was  a  sermon  by  the  Reverend  Dr. 
Chauncy  on  the  text,  "Our  fathers  trusted  in  thee:  they  trusted, 
and  thou  didst  deUver  them";  there  was  "an  elegant  Entertain- 
ment" in  Faneuil  Hall,  "attended  with  that  Chearfulness,  Decency 
and  good  Order  pecuhar  to  the  Favorites  of  Freedom  and  Science." 
Between  five  and  six  hundred  gentlemen  partook  of  the  feast,  and 
joined  in  the  twenty-two  prescribed  toasts.  The  "Gazette,"  re- 
turning to  the  common  people  and  the  Common,  bears  this  final 
record:  "The  poor  of  the  Town  were  presented  with  the  Ox  which 
was  Roasted  for  that  purpose,  and  temperately  shared  in  the 
Festivity  of  the  Day." 

Two  years  later,  in  June  of  1772,  one  finds  other  such  indications 
that  the  Common  was  not  wholly  given  over  to  the  British  troops 
as  the  preaching  of  a  young  countryman  mounted  on  a  stage,  and 
the  parade  of  the  Boston  miUtia  companies  in  honor  of  the  King's 
birthday.  A  month  later,  July  7,  1772,  the  diary  of  John  Rowe 
describes  the  fine  appearance  of  the  Cadets  and  other  mihtia  on  the 


36  Boston  Common 

Common.  On  June  4  of  the  following  year,  1773,  John  Andrews 
wrote  in  a  letter  from  the  house  on  Winter  Street  opposite  the 
Gammon:  "Am  almost  every  minute  taken  oflF  with  the  agreeable 
sight  of  our  militia  companies  marching  into  the  Common,  as  it  is  a 
general  field-day  with  us."  Evidently  the  troops  of  Old  and  New 
England  could  still  appear  in  close  proximity  without  the  use  of 
gunpowder.  It  is  even  a  Uttle  surprising  to  find  the  British  troops 
as  tolerant  as  they  were  at  the  end  of  1773,  about  a  fortnight  after 
the  Tea  Party.  A  family  in  Dorchester  was  suspected  of  rescuing, 
for  its  own  ends,  some  of  the  tea-chests  thrown  into  the  harbor. 
In  the  "house  of  old  Ebenezer  Withington,  at  a  place  called  Sodom, 
below  Dorchester  Meeting  House,"  searchers  in  Indian  garb  "found 
part  of  a  half  chest  which  had  floated,  and  was  cast  up  on  Dor- 
chester point.  This  they  seized  and  brought  to  Boston  Common 
where  they  committed  it  to  the  flames."  The  British  soldiers  could 
hardly  have  been  blamed  if  they  had  interfered  with  this  particular 
ceremony.  Early  in  1775  the  time  came  when  the  Ancient  and 
Honorable  Artillery  Company,  wishing  to  parade,  was  refused 
admittance  to  the  Common. 

Through  1774  there  were  many  arrivals  of  fresh  troops,  and  many 
new  encampments  on  the  Common.  It  was  in  July  that  Earl  Percy 
came.  Across  the  Common  from  the  house  he  occupied,  Clinton, 
arriving  with  Howe  and  Burgoyne  and  many  reenforcements  in 
May  of  1775,  took  up  his  residence  in  John  Hancock's  house.  In 
the  interval  between  the  coming  of  Percy  and  of  Clinton,  nothing  of 
greater  moment  to  the  Colonies  and  England  had  happened  than 
the  affair  of  Lexington  and  Concord.  It  was  from  Boston  Common, 


The  Eighteenth  Century  37 

between  ten  and  eleven  o'clock  on  the  night  of  April  18,  1775,  that 
"all  the  Grenadiers  and  Light  Infantry  of  the  Army"  to  use  the 
words  of  Lieutenant  Barker's  diary — "making  about  600  Men, 
(imder  the  command  of  Lt.  Coll.  Smith  of  the  10th  and  Major 
Pitcairn  of  the  Marines)  embarked  and  were  landed  upon  the 
opposite  shore  on  Cambridge  Marsh."  It  was  to  the  Common  that 
the  more  fortxmate  members  of  this  expedition  returned  so  pre- 
cipitately. It  was  from  the  Common  that  a  large  portion  of  the 
British  troops  who  fought  at  Bunker  Hill  set  forth  on  the  morning 
of  Jime  17.  In  trenches  at  the  bottom  of  the  Common  many  of 
these  soldiers  were  buried  when  the  day's  work  was  done. 

After  Bunker  Hill,  the  siege  which  had  begim  after  Lexington 
became  closer.  With  the  Common  so  thickly  populated  as  it  was, 
the  conditions  of  Ufe  upon  it  grew  less  tolerable.  The  heat  of  sum- 
mer, the  cold  of  winter  —  for  it  may  be  seen  in  the  Andrews  letters 
how  difficult  it  was  to  persuade  American  workmen  to  build  bar- 
racks for  the  troops  for  whom  no  adequate  housing  could  be  provided 
—  caused  many  illnesses  and  deaths,  especially  among  the  women 
and  children  who  followed  the  camp.  There  was  always,  moreover, 
a  certain  danger  of  attack  from  the  American  besiegers.  One  night 
of  October,  1775,  came  the  exploit  described  by  Earl  Percy  in  one 
of  his  letters  to  England,  as  "an  experiment  wh  the  Rebels  tried 
with  a  piece  of  cannon  or  two  in  a  flat-bottomed  boat.  With  these 
they  fired  15  or  20  shot  thro'  our  camp  into  the  Town,  when  alas, 
one  of  the  cannon  burst,  blew  up  the  boat  &  sent  most  of  the  crew 
to  the  Devil."  Actually  but  one  of  the  crew  appears  to  have  been 
killed,  though  eight  were  wounded.   In  the  camp  on  shore,  we  learn 


38  Boston  Common 

from  Belknap's  Journal,  one  man  was  killed.  Altogether  it  was  not 
an  enviable  life  on  the  Common  towards  the  end  of  the  British 
occupation. 

The  disposition  of  the  troops  on  the  Common  and  the  manner  of 
its  fortification  are  described  in  every  considerable  account  of 
Boston  during  the  Revolution.  These  descriptions  might  be  sum- 
marized anew,  but  to  no  better  purpose  than  that  which  is  served 
by  copying  one  of  the  best  of  the  existing  summaries.  "The  posi- 
tions of  the  British  defences  and  encampments  on  the  Common 
during  the  winter  of  1775-76"  —  says  S.  A.  Drake  in  his  "Land- 
marks of  Boston"  —  "were  as  follows:  A  small  earthwork  was 
thrown  up  at  the  northwest  corner,  a  Uttle  higher  up  than  the 
present  entrance  on  Charles  Street;  this  was  designed  for  infantry, 
and  held  by  a  single  company.  The  Uttle  elevation  mentioned  by 
the  name  of  Fox  Hill  [near  the  present  'Centre  Gate'  of  the  Public 
Garden  on  Charles  Street]  was  nearly  or  quite  surrounded  by  water 
at  times,  and  was  hence  called  the  island;  on  this  was  a  small  re- 
doubt. At  the  southwest  corner,  at  a  point  at  high-water  mark,  — 
now  intersected  by  Boylston  Street  extension,  —  was  another 
breastwork  for  infantry.  .  .  .  On  the  westerly  slope  of  the  hill 
overlooking  the  parade,  on  which  the  flagstaff  is  now  situated,  was 
a  square  redoubt,  behind  which  lay  encamped  a  battalion  of  in- 
fantry; to  the  east,  and  on  a  line  with  the  easternmost  point  of  the 
hill,  were  two  half-moons  for  small  arms,  with  a  second  battalion 
in  its  rear.  About  opposite  Carver  Street,  resting  on  the  southwest 
comer  of  the  burial-ground,  was  a  bastioned  work,  directly  across 
Boylston  Street.  This  was  the  second  line.  On  the  hill  formerly 


The  Eighteenth  Century  39 

known  as  Flagstaff  Hill,  but  now  dedicated  to  the  soldiers'  monu- 
ment, the  artillery  was  posted,  protected  by  intrenchments.  Im- 
mediately behind  this  hill,  stretching  from  the  burial-ground  across 
to  Beacon  Street  Mall,  were  the  camps  of  three  battahons  of  in- 
fantry. .  .  .  None  of  the  works  were  formidable  except  the  most 
southern,  which  was  connected  with  the  Une  on  the  Neck.  The 
Common  was  an  intrenched  camp,  with  a  regular  garrison  of  1750 
men.'' 

All  this  military  life  in  a  restricted  territory  must  needs  leave 
its  physical  traces.  The  soldiers  required  firewood,  and  took  it 
from  the  fence  about  John  Hancock's  house,  from  the  fence  between 
the  Great  (afterwards  Tremont  Street)  Mall  and  the  Common  as 
a  whole,  and  from  the  trees  that  shaded  this  Mall.  Their  destruc- 
tion of  these  trees  during  the  siege  so  disturbed  the  Selectmen  that 
they  persuaded  General  Howe  to  stop  it.  On  the  very  morning  of 
the  evacuation  it  is  reported  that  their  wanton  spirit  wreaked  itself 
in  the  cutting-down  of  several  of  the  largest  trees  remaining.  But 
it  was  not  only  overhead  that  the  returning  Bostonians  who  ac- 
companied or  promptly  followed  Washington's  army  found  the 
Common  changed.  The  surface  of  the  ground  was  badly  scarred 
—  with  holes  which  had  been  used  for  cooking,  with  ditches  round 
the  hill  now  surmounted  by  the  Soldiers'  Monument,  with  the  in- 
trenchments already  mentioned.  They  remained,  in  diminishing 
clearness  of  outhne,  as  mementoes  of  the  British  soldiery  until  the 
nineteenth  century  was  well  begun.  Dr.  Hale  could  even  recall 
"playing  soldier"  as  a  boy  in  the  redoubts  left  on  Flag-Staff  Hill; 
and  Colonel  Henry  Lee,  of  the  class  of  1836  at  Harvard,  referred 


40  Boston  Common 

in  his  later  years  to  "the  fortification  on  the  Common  —  that  was 
levelled  when  I  was  in  College." 

After  the  evacuation  there  were  still  nearly  twenty-five  years 
of  the  eighteenth  century  to  be  passed,  and  through  these  years  the 
Common  continued  its  ancient  service  as  the  background  of  charac- 
teristic events.  Here  the  bonfire  which  celebrated  the  surrender  of 
Cornwallis  lighted  a  multitude  of  happy  faces.  Here  occurred  the 
promiscuous  milking  of  all  the  cows  on  the  historic  pasturage  when 
Madam  Hancock  happened  to  need  an  unwonted  supply  of  milk 
for  the  entertainment  of  guests  suddenly  arriving  from  the  French 
fleet.  Here,  in  the  Frog  Pond,  the  local  tradition  insisted  that  the 
common  sailors  of  the  fleet  proved  themselves  true  Frenchmen  by 
hunting  for  frogs.  There  has  been  no  attempt  to  enumerate  every 
striking  occurrence  of  the  first  three  quarters  of  the  eighteenth 
century;  nor  shall  such  an  effort  be  made  for  the  final  fourth.  The 
reasons  for  omitting  many  items  may  be  less  defensible  than  that 
which  applies  to  the  thrice-familiar  story  of  the  coasting  boys  and 
the  British  general.  The  true  reason  for  its  omission  will  be  found 
on  a  bronze  tablet  fastened  to  the  School  Street  fence  of  City  Hall. 


I 


III 

THE  NINETEENTH  CENTURY 

T  was  during  the  nineteenth  century  that  the  greatest  changes 
in  the  physical  aspect  of  the  Common  were  wrought.  Prona 
the  almost  treeless  field,  lending  itself  so  serviceably  to  the  pur- 
poses of  His  INIajesty's  troops,  it  has  changed  by  degrees  into  the 
wooded  park  which,  in  large  measure,  it  has  now  become.  As  the 
changes  in  any  object  are  apt  to  work  from  the  edges  inward,  so  the 
most  notable  improvements  in  the  Common  began  upon  its  borders. 
The  Tremont  Street  Mall  —  which  took  the  name  of  Lafayette 
after  the  beloved  Frenchman's  visit  in  1824,  and  lost  the  glory  of 
its  trees  when  the  Subway  was  built  in  1895  —  had  its  origin,  as 
we  have  seen,  before  the  eighteenth  century  was  half  gone.  The 
planting  of  many  of  the  trees  on  the  Beacon  Street  Mall  is  closely 
associated  with  what  was  called  in  its  day  the  "Madison  War," 
an  unpopular  conflict  in  Federalist  Boston.  A  sum,  amounting  to 
about  twenty-five  hundred  dollars,  was  raised  to  build  fortifications 
for  the  defence  of  the  harbor.  It  was  not  all  expended,  and  in  1816 
the  elms,  now  venerable,  which  shade  the  walk  along  Beacon 
Street,  and  supplement  those  previously  placed  by  John  Hancock, 
in  1780,  opposite  his  own  house,  were  set  out  with  the  residue  from 
this  fund.  In  1823  the  first  Mayor  Quincy  began  the  planting  of 
the  Charles  Street  Mall,  completed  the  next  year,  and  in  1826  re- 
placed the  poplar  trees  along  Park  Street  with  the  elms  which  now 
border  its  Mall.   In  1836,  under  Mayor  Armstrong,  the  Boylston 


42  Boston  Common 

Street  Mall  was  completed  by  absorbing  a  portion  of  the  burial- 
ground,  and  for  the  first  time  the  Common  was  entirely  surrounded, 
as  at  present,  with  broad  walks.  The  origin  and  names  of  the  inter- 
secting paths  across  the  Common  would  extend  the  catalogue  of 
improvements  far  beyond  our  present  limits. 

To  balance  these  additions,  there  was  one  important  subtrac- 
tion in  the  first  third  of  the  century  —  that  of  the  cows,  in  1830, 
by  Mayor  Otis.  These  ancient  tenants  of  the  Common  were  forced 
in  the  course  of  events  to  give  way  before  a  growing  population  of 
human  beings.  If  it  could  no  longer  be  recorded  of  youthful  Emer- 
sons  that  one  item  of  their  daily  chores  was  to  drive  the  family 
cow  to  and  from  the  Common,  the  past  still  survives  in  the  restric- 
tion upon  certain  Mount  Vernon  Street  real  estate  that  a  passage 
through  and  across  it  must  be  maintained  ample  enough  for  a  cow 
to  make  its  way  towards  the  pasture  of  earlier  days. 

The  cows  are  gone,  but  the  Frog  Pond  remains.  It  is  not,  to  be 
sure,  the  rural  pool  which  the  beginning  of  the  century  found  there, 
with  shelving  banks,  and  partly  shaded  by  a  pollard-willow  leaning 
out  across  the  water.  The  boys  of  Boston  can  no  longer  believe, 
like  those  of  a  hundred  years  ago,  either  that  it  is  unfathomable  or 
that  a  frigate  could  be  floated  upon  it.  In  1826  its  shores  were 
curbed,  and  the  introduction  of  city  water  in  1848  robbed  its  sources 
of  mystery.  But  a  Bostonian  still  living  in  1910  could  recall 
drawing  "  shiners "  and  even  horn-pout  from  its  depths  —  or  shal- 
lows; and  continued  to  associate  with  the  Frog  Pond,  as  Dr. 
Holmes  himself  might  conceivably  have  done,  the  couplet  — 

Oh,  what  are  the  prizes  we  perish  to  win 

To  the  first  little  "shiner"  we  cau^t  with  a  pin! 


The  Nineteenth  Century  43 

The  changes  that  came  within  the  Common  dm-ing  the  nineteenth 
century  certainly  had  their  abundant  counterparts  in  its  surround- 
ings. On  three  out  of  four  bordering  streets  the  dwelling-houses 
have  given  place  almost  entirely  to  business,  and  the  encroachment 
upon  the  fourth  is  well  under  way.  Leaving  out  of  account  the 
purely  modern  structures  to  be  seen  across  these  streets,  and  the 
entire  substitution  of  an  urban  for  a  marine  view  to  the  westward, 
the  landmarks  themselves,  almost  without  exception,  belong  to 
what  may  be  called  the  new  order.  The  conspicuous  exception  is 
the  State  House,  and  that  had  stood  but  two  years  before  1800. 
Another  landmark  then  existing  disappeared  when  the  Hancock 
house,  to  the  sorrow  of  later  generations,  was  destroyed  in  1863. 
In  the  course  of  the  nineteenth  century,  the  dignified  Colonnade 
Row  of  dwelling-houses  facing  the  Tremont  Street  Mall  came  and 
went.  In  1809  the  Park  Street  Church  came  —  and  it  has  remained 
long  enough  to  present  a  certain  aspect  of  antiquity.  As  the  build- 
ing in  which  Dr.  Smith's  "America"  was  first  sung,  it  has  long  pos- 
sessed a  distinctive  association.  It  must  have  found  waiting  for  it 
the  winds  for  which  in  turn  waited  the  excellent  moi  that  makes  its 
oft-repeated  cry  for  the  tethering  of  a  shorn  lamb  on  Brimstone 
Corner.  The  meeting-house  and  the  winds,  tempered  somewhat  by 
the  familiar  jest,  have  even  lent  themselves  to  the  increase  of  local 
story.  The  era  of  good  feeUng  between  the  older  and  the  newer 
branches  of  the  Congregational  order  could  hardly  have  begun  when 
the  story  was  first  told.  A  rhymed  version  of  it  is  called 


44 


Boston  Common 

A  LEGEND  OF  BRIMSTONE  CORNER 

The  Devil  and  a  Gale  of  Wind 

Danced  hand  in  hand  up  Winter  Street 
The  Devil  like  his  demons  grinned 

To  have  for  comrade  so  complete 
A  rascal  and  a  mischief-maker 
Who'd  drag  an  oath  from  any  Quaker. 

The  Wind  made  sport  of  hats  and  hair 
That  ladies  deemed  their  ornament; 

With  skirts  that  frolicked  everywhere 
Away  their  prim  decorum  went; 

And  worthy  citizens  lamented 

The  pubUc  spectacles  presented. 

Hie  Devil  beamed  with  horrid  joy. 
Till  to  the  Common's  rim  they  came. 

Then  chuckled,  "Wait  you  here,  my  boy. 
For  duties  now  my  presence  claim 

In  yonder  church  on  Brimstone  Comer, 

Where  Pleasure's  dead  and  lacks  a  mourner; 

**But  play  about  till  I  come  back." 

With  that  he  vanished  through  the  doors. 

And  since  that  day  the  almanac 

Has  marked  the  years  by  tens  and  scores, 

Yet  never  from  those  sacred  portals 

Returns  the  Enemy  of  Mortals. 

And  that  is  why  the  faithful  Gale 

Rotmd  Park  Street  Corner  still  must  blow. 
Waiting  for  him  with  horns  and  tail  — 

At  least  some  people  tell  me  so  — 
None  of  your  famous  antiquarians. 
But  just  some  wicked  Unitarians. 


The  Nineteenth  Century  45 

But  it  was  the  hand  of  man,  and  not  the  winds  or  any  word  of 
man  concerning  them,  which  made  of  the  Common  and  its  sm-- 
roundings  the  admirable  stage  and  setting  for  so  many  saUent  mani- 
festa^tions  of  Boston  Ufe  during  the  nineteenth  century.  It  is  both 
inevitable  and  refreshing  to  find  that  the  chief  associations  of  the 
Common,  ever  since  the  departure  of  the  British  troops,  have  been 
those  of  enjoyment.  More  than  at  any  earlier  time  it  became  the 
local  theatre  of  public  ceremonies  and  spectacles,  and  of  healthy 
play.  A  few  glimpses  of  characteristic  scenes  will  suggest  something 
of  the  extent  to  which  these  valuable  purposes  have  been  served, 

Lafayette's  visit  in  Boston  in  1824  stands  forth  in  local  annals 
as  an  occasion  of  special  splendor.  The  civic,  academic,  and  social 
celebrations  in  honor  of  the  visitor  were  not  enough.  On  ^londay, 
August  30,  a  great  militia  review  took  place  on  the  Common,  where 
two  hundred  tents  were  pitched,  besides  a  great  marquee  for  the 
shelter  of  twelve  hundred  persons  at  dinner.  On  the  preceding 
Friday  there  had  been  a  smaller  ceremony  in  which  Lafayette  him- 
self bore  a  picturesque  part.  The  New  England  Guards,  a  "crack" 
company  of  the  day,  invited  him  to  attend  their  artillery  practice 
on  the  Common.  A  target  floated  in  the  Back  Bay,  somewhere  in 
the  neighborhood  of  the  present  Berkeley  or  Clarendon  Street 
From  the  side  of  Flag-Staff  Hill  the  cannon  was  pointed  out  across 
the  marshes  and  water  extending  beyond  Charles  Street.  The 
Governor  and  the  visiting  General  "honored  the  company,"  as  the 
"Advertiser"  expressed  it,  "by  firing  each  a  gun  with  his  own  hand." 
The  popular  enthusiasm  which  every  act  and  word  of  Lafayette's 
excited  is  almost  beyond  present  comprehension.  It  may  well  be 


46  Boston  Common 

imagined,  then,  with  what  interest  his  aim  at  the  mark  was  watched, 
and  with  what  deUght  the  crowd  soon  saw  that  he  had  struck  the 
target  just  a  Uttle  above  the  centre.  With  such  a  friend,  no  wonder 
our  War  of  Independence  had  succeeded!  If  he  had  missed  —  but 
no,  the  mind  refuses  to  face  such  a  possibiUty .  When  he  retm-ned 
to  Boston,  to  be  present  at  the  laying  of  the  corner-stone  of  the 
Bunker  Hill  Monument,  on  the  fiftieth  anniversary  of  the  battle, 
June  17,  1825,  it  was  from  the  Common  —  the  point  of  departure 
of  the  British  soldiers  a  half -century  before  —  that  the  local  troops 
started  in  the  early  morning  on  their  march  to  Charlestown. 

In  1833  another  distinguished  visitor,  General  Andrew  Jackson, 
came  to  Boston,  and  much  has  been  written  about  the  circumstances 
connected  with  his  receiving  the  degree  of  LL.D.  at  Harvard.  But 
the  Common  again  took  its  place  as  the  background  of  picturesque 
incident,  recorded  in  the  pages  of  Josiah  Quincy's  "Figures  of  the 
Past.'*  In  his  capacity  of  special  aide-de-camp  to  the  President 
during  his  visit,  and  in  preparation  for  the  review  of  the  Boston 
Brigade  to  take  place  on  the  Common  on  the  afternoon  of  June  21, 
Mr.  Quincy  had  secured  trained  parade-horses  for  the  use  not  only 
of  General  Jackson,  but  of  the  Vice-President,  Martin  Van  Buren, 
and  members  of  the  Cabinet  and  presidential  suite.  In  the  morning 
Van  Buren  announced  that  he  and  the  other  members  of  the  Cabinet 
and  suite  would  not  appear  at  the  review,  and  the  horses,  no  longer 
required  by  the  visitors,  were  promptly  engaged  by  officers  of  the 
local  militia.  At  the  last  moment  the  Vice-President  and  the  others 
changed  their  minds,  and  such  horses  as  could  then  be  found  were 
got  for  them,  and  with  the  help  of  military  trappings  were  made 


The  Nineteenth  Century  47 

to  look  as  warlike  as  possible.  Let  the  original  narrator  go  on  with 
the  story:  "We  mounted  and  proceeded  to  the  field  in  good  order; 
but  the  moment  we  reached  the  Common  the  tremendous  discharge 
of  artillery  which  saluted  the  President  scattered  the  Cabinet  in  all 
directions.  Van  Buren  was  a  good  horseman  and  kept  his  seat;  but, 
having  neither  whip  nor  spur,  found  himself  completely  in  the 
power  of  his  terrified  animal,  who,  commencing  a  series  of  retro- 
grade movements  of  a  most  unmiUtary  character,  finally  brought 
up  with  his  tail  against  the  fence  which  then  separated  the  Mall 
from  the  Common,  and  refused  to  budge  another  inch.  In  the 
meantime  the  President  and  his  staff  had  galloped  cheerfully  round 
the  troops  and  taken  up  their  position  on  the  rising  ground  near  the 
foot  of  Joy  Street,  to  receive  the  marching  salute.  'Why,  where 's 
the  Vice-President?'  suddenly  exclaimed  Jackson,  turning  to  me 
for  an  explanation.  'About  as  nearly  on  the  fence  as  a  gentleman 
of  his  positive  poUtical  amvictions  is  Ukely  to  get,'  said  I,  pointing 
him  out.  I  felt  well  enough  acquainted  with  Jackson  by  this  time 
to  venture  upon  a  Uttle  pleasantry.  'That's  very  true,'  said  the 
old  soldier,  laughing  heartily;  'and  you've  matched  him  with  a  horse 
who  is  even  more  non-committal  than  his  rider.'  " 

In  the  year  of  General  Jackson's  visit,  1833,  the  Indian  chief 
Black  Hawk  was  released  from  the  imprisonment  which  had  fol- 
lowed his  defeat,  the  year  before,  in  the  Black  Hawk  War.  Four 
years  later,  in  1837,  he  visited  Boston  with  a  company  of  his  Sacs 
and  Foxes.  The  community  which  had  entertained  so  notable  an 
Indian  fighter  as  Jackson  was  hospitable  also  to  the  conquered 
Indians.  On  October  30,  18S7,  they  were  received  at  the  State 


48  Boston  Common 

House.  The  "Advertiser"  of  the  next  day  tells  something  of  the 
ceremony,  and  goes  on  to  say  that  "the  Governor  and  suite,  with 
the  Indian  delegation,  and  the  pubUc  officers,  were  escorted  to  an 
open  square  in  the  Common,  where,  for  a  considerable  length  of 
time,  the  warriors  performed  a  great  variety  of  war-dances,  to  the 
great  amusement  of  an  immense  concourse  of  spectators.  We  have 
rarely  witnessed  so  vast  and  dense  a  crowd,  as  were  assembled  about 
the  State  House,  on  the  Common,  and  in  the  streets  adjoining  it. 
The  crowd  was  often  so  excessive  as  apparently  to  endanger  the 
lives  of  women  and  children,  yet  we  have  not  heard  that  any  one 
was  injured."  An  eye-witness  of  the  scene  is  reported  as  writing: 
"Their  dresses  of  the  skins  of  wild  animals  with  the  horns  upon 
them,  their  weapons  decorated  with  everything  in  savage  use  that 
could  make  a  clatter  and  a  frightful  show,  their  hideous  and  gro- 
tesque manoeuvres,  their  wild  onsets,  their  uncouth  motions  in  the 
dance,  and  their  unearthly  yell,  made  them  a  most  impressive 
spectacle."  Emerson  wrote  of  them  in  his  Journal  as  "Our  Picts," 
looking  "as  if  the  bears  and  catamounts  had  sent  a  deputation." 
They  were  attended  by  "several  companies  of  the  6Ute  of  the 
militia"  —  but  the  central  fact  that  the  crowd  and  the  soldiery 
gathered  to  see  a  war-dance  of  authentic  Indian  braves  on  Boston 
Common  is  what  renders  the  occasion  memorable. 

In  the  following  decade  the  "Water  Celebration,"  October  25, 
1848,  marked  a  civic  achievement  of  the  highest  order.  We  take 
so  completely  for  granted  to-day  our  water-supplies  in  town  and 
country  that  the  introduction  of  a  system  of  city  water  seems  a 
commonplace.  It  was  a  diflFerent  matter  when  the  water  of  Lake 


T^he  Nineteenth  Century  49 

Cochituate  was  first  rendered  available  for  the  daily  uses  of  Boston 
citizens.  A  highly  variegated  procession  paraded  the  streets, 
bringing  its  march  to  an  end  on  the  Common.  There  the  Frog  Pond 
became  Hterally  the  centre  of  the  stage,  for  the  Mayor  and  other 
dignitaries  took  their  place  on  a  platform  over  the  middle  of  it. 
When  the  water  was  turned  on,  and  the  fountain  leaped  high  into 
the  air,  the  school-children,  assembled  with  representatives  of  every 
other  element  of  the  population,  sang  Lowell's  Ode,  written  for  the 
occasion,  beginning  "My  Name  is  Water";  the  bells  rang,  cannon 
were  fired,  rockets  soared  aloft;  cheering,  laughter,  and  even  tears 
paid  their  spontaneous  tribute  to  the  completion  of  a  great  under- 
taking. Thirty-five  years  later,  a  school-boy's  remembrances  of 
the  day  provided  the  theme  for  an  effective  stanza  in  the  verses 
read  by  the  Honorable  Robert  S.  Rantoul  at  a  Latin-School  dinner: 

Behold  the  stately  pageant  wind  along  the  choking  street! 

From  mart  and  house-top  streaming  flags  our  civic  feast-day  greet! 

By  the  dark  Frog-pond's  mimic  flood  I  see  our  cohorts  drawn. 

As,  line  on  line,  by  Beacon  Hill,  they  tramp  the  sloping  lawn. 

I  feel  October's  eager  air  toy  with  each  silken  fold 

Of  that  bright  flag  whose  "P.L.S."  our  modest  legend  told. 

I  hear  the  bells,  with  clangorous  tongue  the  wanmg  day  ring  out; 

I  watch  the  rockets*  fiery  trail  —  I  catch  the  exultant  shout 

That  rolled  —  it  seems  but  yester-e'en  —  along  the  Park  Street  crest 

Just  as  the  red  Autumnal  sim  sank  in  the  purple  west. 

From  State  House  dome,  down  Flag-Stafif  Hill,  to  lazy  Charles's  banks  — 

The  wild  huzza  that  scaled  the  sky  from  out  those  school-boy  ranks. 

When  from  its  base  of  molten  bronze  the  crystal  column  rose! 

Long  Pond,  at  last,  by  Blackstone's  Spring,  in  m>n  arteries  flows! 

And  Boston  claims  her  destined  bride,  the  fair  Cochituate, 

As  Quincy  turns  the  water  on,  in  Eighteen  Forty-Eight! 


50  Boston  Common 

In  September  of  1851  the  city  celebrated  with  three  days  of 
festivity,  known  as  the  "Raib*oad  Jubilee,"  the  opening  of  railway 
connections  with  the  Canadas  and  the  West.  From  Washington 
came  President  Fillmore,  with  members  of  his  Cabinet;  and  from 
Canada,  Lord  Elgin,  then  Governor-General  of  British  North 
America,  with  his  suite.  On  the  first  day,  September  17,  the  Com- 
mon was  merely  the  scene  of  a  miUtary  review  by  the  President. 
On  the  third  day,  Friday  the  19th,  it  was  the  terminus  of  an  elab- 
orate military,  industrial,  and  civic  procession,  which  passed,  just 
before  disbanding,  between  lines  of  five  thousand  school-children 
lining  the  Park  Street,  Beacon  Street,  and  Charles  Street  Malls. 
"The  appearance  of  this  array  of  intelligent  and  happy  boys  and 
girls,  extending  more  than  a  mile,"  says  the  writer  of  the  oflBcial 
account  of  the  Jubilee,  "could  not  fail  to  make,  upon  every  reflecting 
mind,  a  deep  and  most  delightful  impression."  The  reflecting  mind, 
however,  was  not  all  that  required  satisfaction,  and  the  parade  was 
followed  by  a  dinner  for  thirty-six  hundred  persons  in  a  mammoth 
pavilion  erected  on  a  level  space  adjoining  the  Tremont  Street  Mall, 
opposite  West  Street.  The  flags  of  Great  Britain  and  the  United 
States  adorned  it  without  and  within,  where  also  a  profusion  of 
mottoes,  some  of  them  calhng  for  the  reciprocity  of  trade  which  is 
still  an  object  of  desire,  prompted  the  diners  to  noble  sentiments. 
There  was  no  less  a  profusion  of  oratory  —  from  Lord  Elgin,  Governor 
Boutwell,  Edward  Everett,  Robert  C.  Winthrop,  and  others.  Presi- 
dent Fillmore  himself,  obliged  to  leave  the  banquet  early,  called 
forth  applause  and  cheering  of  special  vigor  when  he  declared:  "I 
thought,  when  I  entered  your  city,  that  I  saw  Boston  in  all  its  glory. 


The  Nineteenth  Century  51 

I  knew  that  it  had  its  'merchant  princes,'  but  I  did  not  know  until 
to-day,  that  it  had  its  mechanic  noblemen  of  nature."  The  "me- 
chanic noblemen "  who  had  carried  in  the  procession  such  mottoes 
as  "A  New  Way  to  Raise  the  Wind,"  over  the  exhibit  of  the  bellows- 
makers,  and  "The  Country's  Safe,"  over  a  truck-load  of  "Sala- 
mander Safes,"  must  have  regarded  the  President  as  a  worthy 
fellow-craftsman,  in  phrase-making. 

The  visit  of  Lord  Renfrew,  as  King  Edward  VII  of  England  styled 
himself  when  he  visited  Boston  in  October  of  1860,  called  the  Com- 
mon again  into  requisition  for  a  miUtary  review.  At  one  o'clock  on 
Thursday  the  18th,  the  Prince  of  Wales,  dressed  in  the  imiform  of  a 
colonel  of  the  British  Army,  and  mounted  on  Colonel  T.  Bigelow 
Lawrence's  horse  "Black  Prince,"  which  the  sculptor  Ball  after- 
wards used  as  the  model  for  the  bronze  charger  of  General  Washing- 
ton in  the  Public  Garden,  reached  the  foot  of  Flag-StaflF  (now  Monu- 
ment) Hill  under  an  imposing  escort,  and  was  greeted  by  a  salute 
of  artilfery.  At  about  the  same  time  a  procession  including  the 
Mayor,  representatives  of  the  city  government,  and  invited  guests 
arrived  on  the  small  elevation  south  of  Flag-Staflf  Hill.  The  Prince, 
attended  by  the  Governor  and  his  staff,  and  the  members  of  his  own 
suite,  many  of  them  in  British  uniforms,  rode  up  and  down  the  line 
of  troops  extending  the  whole  length  of  the  parade-ground  and  the 
Beacon  Street  Mall,  and  received  the  usual  salutes.  Then  the  entire 
division  passed  in  review  before  the  Prince.  If  he  learned  that  the 
Independent  Boston  Fusileers  left  the  line  with  all  their  oflBcers 
because  they  imagined  themselves  wronged  in  the  position  assigned 
them,  and  that  the  captain  of  a  Braintree  company  was  placed  under 


52  Boston  Common 

arrest  for  bringing  his  men  to  the  Common  in  their  new  gray  uni- 
forms in  defiance  of  an  order  to  appear  in  the  regulation  dress  worn 
by  the  other  companies  of  their  regiment,  it  may  be  hoped  that  he 
knew  also  of  the  military  executions  required  to  maintain  the  dis- 
cipline of  the  British  troops  encamped  on  the  same  field  eighty-five 
years  before. 

These  ceremonies,  with  others  which  are  best  recalled  through 
old-time  prints,  were  the  exceptional  splendors  of  the  Common. 
Every  year  there  were  lesser  glories,  diminishmg,  to  be  sure,  as 
the  century  wore  on.  The  General  Election  of  State  oflBcers  was 
moved  from  the  time-honored  last  Wednesday  in  May.  The  annual 
Muster  or  Training  of  local  miUtia,  formerly  held  in  October,  has 
passed  with  the  passing  of  the  "fuss  and  feathers"  period  in  miU- 
tary  life;  yet  the  parade-ground  is  still  <rf  service  in  the  long  after- 
noons of  spring  for  the  driUing  of  local  companies  of  the  State 
militia.  The  Artillery  Election,  early  in  Jime,  has  an  importance 
relatively  far  smaller  than  of  old.  Even  the  Fourth  of  July,  with  the 
increased  facihties  for  getting  away  from  city  celebrations,  and  now 
with  a  River  Basin  for  the  display  of  fireworks,  is  by  no  means  what 
it  was.  Through  a  considerable  part  of  the  nineteenth  century, 
however,  all  of  these  festivals  were  enthusiastically  observed  upon 
the  Common  —  for  the  time  being  a  place  of  special  delight  to  the 
juvenile  members  of  the  population.  The  Malls,  separated  from 
the  rest  of  the  Common  by  fences,  were  crowded  with  "attractions." 
Between  the  inner  and  outer  fence  —  on  the  edge  of  the  street  — 
the  venders  of  holiday  refreshments  put  up  their  tents  and  plied 
their  trades.  On  the  Tremont  Street  Mall,  we  are  told,  there  wei« 


7he  Nineteenth  Century  53 

three  rows  of  tents  —  "the  easterly  row  for  candy-sellers,  the  middle 
generally  for  cake  and  bun-venders,  and  the  westerly  row  for  the 
ancient  election  beverages,  which  were  the  freest  hquid  used  on  gala 
days."  From  the  other  attractions  of  the  place  the  Punch  and  Judy 
shows  long  survived,  and  the  exhibitor  of  astronomical  wonders  — 
Dr.  Hohnes's  "Galileo  of  the  Mall"  —  still  swept  the  skies  in  1910. 

The  public  conscience  was  less  sensitive  in  earlier  days  than  at 
present,  and  on  July  4,  1810,  the  town  itself  is  reported  to  have 
supplied  four  hogsheads  of  rum  for  public  consumption.  Children 
were  allowed  a  latitude  of  diet  which  would  fill  a  modern  parent  with 
consternation.  It  is  no  wonder  that  Dr.  Hale,  after  describing  in 
his  "New  England  Boyhood,"  the  m61ange  of  tamarinds,  dates, 
oysters,  candy,  "John  Endicotts,"  ginger  and  spruce  beer,  in  which 
the  boys  of  his  generation  indulged  themselves,  exclaimed,  "Why 
we  did  not  all  die  of  the  trash  we  ate  and  drank  on  such  occasions, 
I  do  not  know."  But  the  community  and  the  boys  seem  to  have 
been  all  young  and  happy  together,  and  never  to  have  realized  what 
perils  they  were  escaping.  As  everything  grew  older  and  more  re- 
spectable, the  grog  and  gambling  and  other  doubtful  diversions  were 
banished,  and  the  visitor  to  the  Common  ujwn  a  modern  Fourth  of 
July  must  needs  add  to  the  spectacle  of  booths  and  holiday-makers 
a  Uberal  mixture  of  imagination  if  he  would  see  the  Common  in  its 
former  glory. 

Between  the  two  election  days  —  the  General  and  the  Artillery 
—  there  was  a  deep  gulf  fixed.  The  first,  absolutely  democratic, 
was  vulgarly  called  "  Nigger  'Lection."  On  the  second,  white  persons 
only  were  allowed  on  the  Common.  The  injustice  of  the  distmction 


54  Boston  Common 

so  exasperated  the  negro  cook  and  steward  of  the  ship  Canton 
Packet,  belonging  to  the  Perkins  brothers,  that  when  he  was  left 
in  charge  of  the  vessel  while  the  captain  and  crew  went  to  the 
Common  for  the  enjoyment  of  the  Artillery  Election  day  of  1817, 
he  fired  a  pistol  into  the  ship's  powder  and  blew  her,  and  himself, 
to  pieces. 

For  the  losses  of  picturesqueness  more  or  less  directly  affecting 
the  Common  during  the  past  centmy,  there  have  been  some  com- 
pensating gains.  Dr.  Hale  described  the  four  chief  functions  of  the 
Common  in  his  boyhood  as  (1)  a  pasture  for  cows,  (2)  a  playground 
for  children,  (3)  a  place  for  beating  carpets,  and  (4)  a  training-ground 
for  the  militia.  On  the  first  and  last  of  these  uses  something  has 
already  been  said.  On  the  third  it  is  hardly  necessary  to  dwell. 
The  second,  on  the  contrary,  might  almost  serve  by  itself  as  the 
subject  for  a  small  volume.  At  a  time  when  there  was  little  of 
Boston  except  "Boston  Proper,"  when  the  present  outlying  parks, 
avenues,  and  water-fronts  were  imknown,  inaccessible,  or  remote 
from  population,  the  Common  provided  the  inevitable  outlet  for 
the  energies  of  the  yoimg.  It  is  safe  to  say,  moreover,  that  just 
because  it  was  the  playground  of  so  many  Bostonians  of  the  older 
generation,  it  has  taken  a  hold  upon  their  affections  and  imagina- 
tions which  time  has  not  relaxed.  They  look  back  upon  it,  much  as 
they  remember  the  country  holidays  of  childhood,  with  a  peculiar 
fondness.  And  why  should  they  not?  There  was  the  Frog  Pond  for 
the  water-supply  of  firemen's  play-outs,  for  the  saiUng  of  toy  boats 
in  summer,  for  skating  in  winter.  There  was  the  fishing  Stone  near 
the  Joy  Street  gate,  a  rough  rock  on  and  round  which  it  was  the 


The  Nineteenth  Century  ^^ 

custom  to  perform  certain  ritual  observances  in  the  belief  that 
wishes  made  upon  their  completion  would  come  true.  There  was 
the  popular  sport  of  kite-flying.  Mr.  J.  D'W.  Lovett,  in  his  admir- 
able "Old  Boston  Boys  and  the  Games  they  Played,"  tells  of  the 
special  skill  of  Dr.  Nathaniel  B.  Shurtleff,  mayor  and  historian, 
among  the  gentlemen  who  made  and  flew  kites  for  their  children, 
and  recalls  especially  several  kites  "which  resembled  owls  with  large, 
blinking  eyes,  and  which  were  most  effective  in  the  air."  There  was 
hockey,  and  there  was  baseball.  Mr.  Lovett,  a  famous  player  in  his 
day,  records  even  the  part  which  the  devotees  of  the  national  game 
as  played  on  the  Common  took  in  a  city  election.  Tlie  ground  was 
ploughed  up  in  the  spring  of  1869  and  the  game  discontinued.  In 
December  came  the  election  of  Mayor  and  Aldermen.  The  ball- 
players set  about  to  do  what  they  could  for  the  choice  of  candidates 
known  to  favor  athletic  sjjorts  and  the  old  uses  of  the  Common. 
They  printed  a  non-partisan  ticket,  under  the  emblem  of  a  red  ball, 
distributed  this  ballot  with  proper  exhortations  at  the  polls,  and 
had  the  satisfaction  of  seeing  Mayor  Shurtleff,  antiquary  and  maker 
of  kites,  returned  to  office. 

Above  all  there  was  coasting.  Again  in  Mr.  Lovett's  pages  it  is 
graphically  pictured.  The  sleds,  beautifully  made,  and  bearing 
such  fanciful  names  as  "Comet,"  "Cave  Adsum,"  and  "Dancing 
Feather,"  were  objects  of  admiration  and  pride.  Racing  was  the  order 
of  the  day.  The  cry  of  "Lullah"  cleared  the  track.  The  "Long 
Coast,"  from  the  corner  of  Park  and  Beacon  Streets  to  the  West 
Street  entrance  and  along  the  Tremont  Street  Mall,  was  the  fav- 
orite course,  though  the  Beacon  Street  Mall,  the  path  from  Joy 


56  Boston  Common 

Street,  and  the  bill  still  dedicated  to  coasting,  were  also  used.  In 
earlier  times,  when  Dr.  Hale  was  young,  the  smallest  boys  coasted 
on  the  Park  Street  Mall.  In  the  seventies  the  double-runner,  or 
double-ripper,  came  mto  popularity.  Sleds  of  this  type  were  often 
elaborate  structures.  In  the  "Globe"  for  January  27,  1875,  the 
first  appearance  of  the  "Highlander"  on  the  Common  was  described: 
"It  is  a  long  double-nmner  of  the  usual  pattern,  painted  red,  with 
a  head-light  Uke  a  juvenile  locomotive,  and  a  steering  apparatus  on 
the  tiller  principle.  It  is  cushioned  quite  elegantly,  and  has  side 
rests  for  the  feet  of  the  coasters,  of  whom  it  will  accommodate  eight 
or  ten.  A  large  white  streamer  ornaments  the  prow,  and  there  are 
brass  trimmings  and  handles  along  the  sides."  The  "Herald,"  of 
the  same  day  places  the  cost  of  the  "Highlander"  at  two  hundred 
and  fifty  dollars.  With  the  increase  of  these  monster  sleds,  the 
roping-off  of  the  coasts  became  a  necessity  for  safety;  and  where  the 
lengthwise  paths  of  the  Common  crossed  the  coasts,  bridges  for 
foot-passengers  were  erected.  But  in  spite  of  precautions,  accidents 
became  too  frequent,  and  coasting  in  this  more  elaborate  form  was 
stopped.  Though  life  and  hmb  were  henceforth  more  secure,  one 
of  the  most  characteristic  local  spectacles  disappeared. 

A  safer  employment  of  the  Common  was  made  by  the  many 
Bostonians  of  the  nineteenth  century  who  made  a  practice  of  walk- 
ing round  the  outside  of  it  every  morning  before  breakfast.  Daniel 
Webster  is  remembered  as  one  of  these,  and  Edward  Everett,  with 
his  son  WilUam  fitting  his  boyish  stride  to  the  paternal  measure. 
Rufus  Choate  in  this  morning  promenade  is  said  to  have  studied 
his  German.  The  walks  of  the  Common  have,  indeed,  been  indefi- 


The  Nineteenth  Century  cy 

nitely  useful.  In  one  of  them  Emerson  urged  upon  Whitman  the 
omission  of  portions  of  his  "Leaves  of  Grass,"  and  Whitman,  know- 
ing that  he  could  never  hear  the  argument  better  presented,  went 
his  way  unmoved.  In  another,  the  Long  Path,  the  Schoolmistress 
and  the  Autocrat  began  their  walking  of  the  long  path  of  life  to- 
gether, and  were  greeted  by  the  old  gentleman  who  "said,  very 
charmingly,  *  Good-morning,  my  dears!'"  As  early  as  1821  a 
"Surveyor  and  Topographer,"  John  G.  Hales,  printed  in  his  "Survey 
of  Boston  and  Its  Vicinity"  a  "Table  showing  the  rate  per  hour  a 
person  is  moving  by  the  time  taken  to  pass  the  long  Mall  from  the 
fence  on  Park  Street  to  the  fence  on  Boylston  Street."  The  first  of 
twenty  entries  shows  that  a  speed  of  one  mile  an  hour  is  attained 
by  taking  19  minutes  8.86  seconds  for  "passing  through  the  Mall." 
This  snail's  pace  is  gradually  quickened  till  ten  miles  an  hour  is 
scored  by  covering  the  distance  in  1  minute,  54.85  seconds.  To  see 
a  good  Bostonian,  with  Hales's  Uttle  book  and  an  open  watch  in  his 
hands,  making  his  ten  miles  an  hoiu"  down  the  Tremont  Street  IVIall 
would  have  been  quite  as  exciting  as  the  later  spectacle  of  coasting. 

Safer  even  than  walking  were  the  pleasures  of  watching  the  ani- 
mals in  the  Deer  Park  which  from  1863  to  1882  was  maintained  on 
the  Boylston  Street  Mall  between  the  Burial-Ground  and  Tremont 
Street;  and  of  repairing  to  the  Smokers'  Retreat  or  Circle  which 
flourished  soon  after  the  middle  of  the  century  for  the  benefit  of 
lovers  of  tobacco  forbidden  to  enjoy  it  on  the  Common  as  a  whole. 

The  pomp  and  circumstance  of  special  events,  the  daily  pleasures 
and  pursuits  of  Boston  life,  ran  their  course  on  the  Common  through 
the  nineteenth  century  just  as  the  men  of  that  vanished  and  vanishing 


58  Boston  Common 

time  led  their  individual  lives.  The  life  of  every  nineteenth-century 
American  whose  period  of  maturity  included  the  four  years  of  the 
Civil  War  is  inevitably  scrutinized  for  the  part  he  bore  in  the  con- 
flict, or  at  least  for  his  attitude  towards  it.  But  places  as  well  as 
men  may  be  subjected  to  this  special  scrutiny  —  and  the  Common 
emerges  from  it  as  a  place  of  poignant  association  with  the  ardors 
and  the  pathos  of  the  war-time. 

Even  before  the  storm  broke,  there  was  a  foretaste,  in  the  summer 
of  1860,  when  Ellsworth's  Zouaves  visited  Boston,  of  what  was 
coming.  Their  drill  on  the  Common,  on  July  23,  must  have  given 
an  unfamiliar  impression  of  fighting  men.  Not  only  their  bizarre 
uniform,  but  their  remarkable  dexterity  in  the  manual  of  arms, 
distinguished  their  exhibition  sharply  from  previous  military  per- 
formances. The  spectators  are  said  to  have  numbered  fifteen  or 
twenty  thousand,  including  many  ladies  and  representatives  of 
local  miUtary  bodies.  The  visitors,  after  the  manner  of  La  Tour's 
Frenchmen  in  1643,  brought  their  drill  to  a  sensational  close,  ac- 
cording to  the  "Advertiser"  of  the  following  day,  "with  a  grand 
ssouave  charge  in  which  they  made  a  violent  rush  towards  the  spec- 
tators, accompanied  with  a  savage  yell,  which  caused  them  to  beat 
a  hasty  retreat,  but  the  order  to  halt  was  given  before  the  bristling 
bayonets  reached  the  line."  The  interest  in  the  entire  spectacle 
could  hardly  have  been  keener  had  it  been  known  that  Colonel  Ells- 
worth himself,  within  a  year,  was  to  be  among  the  first  of  the  con- 
spicuous oflBcers  to  perish  in  the  Union  cause. 

The  days  were  indeed  at  hand  when  the  Common  was  to  be  used 
less  for  mimic  warfare  than  for  a  rallying-point  of  soldiers  departing 


The  Nineteenth  Century  59 

for  actual  battle  or  returning  from  it.  The  immediate  response  of 
Massachusetts  to  the  President's  first  call  for  troops  on  the  fall  of 
Fort  Sumter  gave  scanty  time  for  display.  But  for  a  severe  storm 
on  Tuesday,  April  16,  the  gathering  companies  would  have  as- 
sembled on  the  Common,  instead  of  in  Faneuil  Hall.  On  Wednes- 
day the  17th  Governor  Andrew  gave  God-speed  from  the  steps  of 
the  State  House  to  the  first  armed  troops  moving  from  the  North  — 
to  the  Sixth  Regiment,  about  to  fight  its  way  through  Baltimore, 
to  the  Fourth  and  the  Third,  sailing  direct  for  Washington  and 
Fortress  Monroe.  At  noon  of  the  19th  the  Light  Artillery  fired  a 
salute  on  the  Common  in  memory  of  the  Battle  of  Lexington.  Later 
in  the  day  the  companies  of  the  Fifth  Regiment  began  to  gather 
there,  and  from  this  time  forward  the  thoughts  of  "battles  long 
ago"  gave  place  to  the  immediate  concerns  of  the  country.  It 
would  be  impossible  in  the  present  space  to  chronicle  all  the  fare- 
wells to  departing  regiments,  the  offerings  of  rest  and  food  to  Maine 
and  New  Hampshire  troops  on  their  passage  through  Boston,  the 
delight  of  boys  permitted  to  fill  the  soldiers'  canteens,  the  recruiting 
activities,  the  receptions  to  returning  regiments,  the  musterings-oul 
—  all  the  war-time  scenes  enacted  on  the  Common.  The  records 
of  the  period  overflow  with  them.  Here  it  must  suflSce  to  point  out 
a  few  of  the  most  saUent  and  characteristic. 

r  The  day  on  which  the  first  departure  from  Boston  of  a  regiment 
enlisted  for  three  years  took  place  —  June  15,  1861  —  was  hot  and 
sultry.  Wearing  their  overcoats,  the  men  of  the  First  Massachusetts 
Regiment  marched  in  the  early  morning  from  Camp  Cameron  in 
North  Cambridge  to  the  Common.  Exhausted  as  they  were  on 


6o  Boston  Common 

their  arrival,  there  were  trying  experiences  ahead.  A  multitude  of 
friends,  parents,  wives,  and  sweethearts,  assembled  on  the  borders 
of  the  parade-ground,  roped  ofiF  on  all  but  the  Charles  Street  side. 
From  the  "Advertiser"  of  June  17  it  appears  that  the  crowd  on  this 
side  began  the  advance  upon  the  troops.  "The  line  swayed  to  and 
fro  a  few  moments,"  writes  the  regimental  historian,  "and  then, 
over  the  rope,  in  every  direction,  the  earnest  and  excited  mass  of 
humanity  plunged;  and  much  more  speedily  than  it  takes  to  write 
it,  oflBcers,  soldiers,  and  civilians  were  mixed  up  in  one  immense 
throng  of  people,  weeping,  laughing,  embracing,  cUnging  to  one 
another,  and  presenting  here  and  there  scenes  so  aflFecting,  that  the 
recollection  of  them  is  as  fresh  and  vivid  to-day  as  on  the  evening 
when  they  transpired."  A  veteran  oflBcer  of  the  regiment,  now  an 
octogenarian,^  said  recently  in  describing  the  scene:  "I  myself  did 
what  I  should  never  think  of  doing  now  —  I  kissed  several  young 
women  I  had  never  seen  before."  At  last  about  two  thirds  of  the 
regiment  fell  into  line,  and  the  remainder  straggled  along  with  the 
crowd  of  spectators  to  the  Providence  Station,  where  a  banner  which 
could  not  be  given  to  the  regiment  in  the  confusion  on  the  Common 
was  duly  presented.  Nearly  three  years  later,  on  May  28,  1864, 
the  First  Massachusetts  was  mustered  out  of  service  on  Boston 
Common. 

A  month  after  the  departure  of  the  First  Massachusetts,  the 
Twelfth,  known  as  the  Webster  Regiment  and  commanded  by 
Daniel  Webster's  son  Fletcher,  came  up  to  the  Common,  on  July 

*  When  these  words  were  written.  Dr.  Samuel  A.  Green,  to  whom  they  refer, 
was  still  living. 


The  Nineteenth  Century  6i 

18,  1861,  from  Fort  Warren  in  Boston  Harbor,  to  receive  a  banner. 
The  speech  of  presentation  was  made  by  Edward  Everett,  and 
Colonel  Webster  replied  on  behalf  of  his  regiment.  There  was  a 
drill  both  before  and  after  the  generous  "collation"  which  the 
city  provided  for  the  men  under  the  trees  of  the  Beacon  Street 
Mall  and  for  the  officers  under  a  large  marquee.  The  legend  that 
the  song  of  "John  Brown's  Body"  was  first  sung  on  Boston  Common 
has  its  origin  in  the  doings  of  this  day.  Apparently  the  song  was 
made  at  Fort  Warren  by  members  of  the  Second  Battalion  of  Massa- 
chusetts Infantry,  known  as  "The  Tigers,"  many  of  whom  enlisted 
in  the  Twelfth  Regiment.  "It  was  this  regiment,"  says  Mr.  Louis 
C.  Elson,  in  "The  National  Music  of  America,"  "that  bore  the  song 
to  popularity."  As  they  marched  down  State  Street  from  the 
Common  on  the  evening  of  July  18,  to  reembark  for  Fort  Warren, 
"the  order  'route  step'  was  given"  —  said  the  "Advertiser"  of  the 
next  morning  —  "and  the  men  broke  out  into  the  now  popular 
•John  Brown  Army  Hymn,'  by  way  of  enlivening  the  rest  of  their 
march."  The  words  "now  popular"  indicate  clearly  that  the  song 
was  already  making  its  way.  The  regiment  was  soon  ordered  to  the 
front  — and  Mi.  Elson  writes  that  he  "has  spoken  with  many 
people  who  first  heard  the  tune,  and  in  a  manner  which  imprinted 
it  forever  in  their  memory,  on  Boston  Common,  when  Colonel 
Fletcher  Webster's  men  marched  across  it  on  their  way  from  Fort 
Warren  to  the  Providence  depot,  to  take  cars  for  New  York." 
They  sang  it  again,  says  Mr.  Elson,  on  Broadway  in  New  York, 
and  "sang  it  into  the  war."  From  the  "History  of  the  Twelfth 
Massachusetts  Volunteers"  we  learn  that  on  the  day  of  final  depar- 


62  Boston  Common 

tiire  from  Fort  Warren  (July  23)  the  song  was  sung  on  State  Street 
and  "again  near  the  Common."  Whether  "near"  or  "across" 
preserves  the  accurate  truth  of  history,  surely  this  association  of 
the  song  with  the  Common  may  be  held  in  close  companionship 
with  the  first  singing  of  "America"  in  Park  Street  Church,  within 
hearing  distance  of  the  same  plot  of  ground. 

The  catalogue  of  departures  might  be  extended  to  great  length, 
but  it  may  not  be  cut  short  without  at  least  a  mention  of  the  passing 
of  Colonel  Shaw's  Fifty-Fourth  (colored)  Regiment  before  Governor 
Andrew  on  the  State  House  steps.  May  28,  1863,  its  march  down 
Beacon  Street  in  front  of  strongholds  of  conservatism  which  looked 
with  doubtful  eyes  upon  the  afBhation  of  black  and  white,  its  re- 
view upon  the  Common,  where  Frederick  Douglass  saw  two  of  his 
sons  in  the  ranks.  In  spite  of  the  doubting  few,  the  heart  and  soul 
of  the  community  marched  with  the  regiment  to  Battery  Wharf 
in  the  afternoon,  and  followed  the  white  oflScers  and  their  black 
men  into  the  fateful  South.  The  feehng  not  only  of  this  day,  but 
of  those  others  when  the  Fifty-Fifth  Infantry  and  the  Fifth  Cavalry 
started  from  the  Common  to  the  front,  lives  on  in  the  bronze  of 
Saint-Gaudens. 

In  the  summer  of  1862  the  Common  became  an  important  head- 
quarters for  recruiting.  On  the  Fourth  of  July  the  President  called 
for  three  hundred  thousand  men  to  enlist  for  three  years,  or  until 
the  war  should  end.  A  Citizens'  Committee  of  One  Hundred  and 
Fifty  took  the  matter  in  hand.  A  recruiting  tent  was  put  up  oppo- 
site West  Street  on  the  Common,  and  on  the  parade-ground  music- 
stands  and  platforms  for  speakers  were  erected.  A  series  of  en- 


7he  Nineteenth  Century  63 

thusiastic  meetings  took  place  towards  the  end  of  July.  At  one  of 
them,  on  the  28th,  a  dissenter  from  the  patriotic  expressions  of 
Mr.  Patrick  Raflerty  of  the  Thirty-Third  Regiment  was  seized  by 
the  crowd  and  thrown  into  the  Frog  Pond.  The  largest  meeting 
of  all  occurred  on  August  27.  "On  no  occasion  which  the  war  has 
given  rise  to,"  said  the  "Advertiser,"  "has  the  expression  of  the 
people  been  so  general  and  so  marked  by  patriotic  fervor  as  in  the 
grand  celebration  of  yesterday.  Business  was  universally  suspended 
by  common  consent,  and  the  suggestion  for  a  procession  and  mass 
meeting  in  aid  of  the  city  recruitment  met  with  a  hearty  response. 
. .  .  The  affair  was  essentially  popular;  men  in  citizens'  dress  and 
distinguished  only  by  the  badges  of  their  respective  callings,  and  the 
colors  and  mottoes  which  symboUze  the  common  cause,  united  in 
the  long  procession,  and  Ustened  to  the  eloquent  appeals  from  the 
various  stands  on  the  Common.  .  .  .  Early  in  the  afternoon  the 
various  associations  proposing  to  join  in  the  procession  began  to 
assemble  on  the  Common  near  Park  Street.  .  .  .  The  various  cixic 
and  military  organizations  entered  the  Common  by  the  West  Street 
gate  and  were  at  once  conducted  into  line  by  the  Marshals.  The 
procession  was  formed  and  paraded  through  the  city  in  accordance 
with  the  well-arranged  programme."  There  were  stirring  addresses 
from  the  three  stands  on  the  Common  by  Governor  Andrew,  Edward 
Everett,  Robert  C.  Winthrop,  and  others,  including  a  Kentucky 
general  and  a  California  Senator. 

If  the  assembling  and  dispatching  of  troops  to  the  South  provoked 
enthusiasm,  the  spirit  in  which  they  were  welcomed  home  again 
may  well  be  imagined.  The  receptions  to  returning  regiments 


64  Boston  Common 

began  very  early  in  the  war,  for  the  first  enlistments  were  for  the 
briefest  of  periods.  The  Third  and  Fourth  Regiments  were  back  in 
Boston  on  July  23,  1861;  the  Fifth  and  Sixth  returned  on  July  30 
and  August  1  respectively.  Of  course  they  were  marched  to  the 
Common,  reviewed  and  cheered  by  the  excited  crowd.  But  before 
the  mustering-out  —  followed  in  many  cases  by  immediate  reenlist- 
ment  —  the  men  were  fed  at  tables  on  the  Beacon  Street  Mall. 
After  the  "bountiful  collation"  mentioned  in  the  "Advertiser"  of 
August  2,  1861,  describing  the  reception  of  the  Sixth  Regiment,  it 
is  said  that  "the  soldiers  strolled  about  the  Common,  talking  with 
friends  and  acquaintances.  Those  who  were  so  unfortunate  as  not 
to  have  any,  soon  succeeded  in  making  both  out  of  the  crowd  who 
were  anxious  to  hear  all  the  news  that  was  to  be  heard."  These 
earliest  regiments  returned  far  less  impaired  than  those  which  fol- 
lowed them.  The  thinned  ranks,  the  torn  and  blood-stained  flags 
soon  began  to  make  their  piteous  appeal  on  the  Common.  It  is 
easy  to  picture  it  all,  and  remembering  those  who  looked  in  vain  for 
the  imreturning,  to  fill  in  many  details  of  personal  tragedy. 

These  spectacles  were  presented  over  and  over  again,  even  until 
the  summer  and  autumn  of  1865.  A  typical  reception  —  and  one 
shall  speak  for  many  —  is  described  in  the  "Advertiser"  of  Thursday, 
June  11,  1863,  telling  of  the  return  of  the  Forty-Fourth  on  the 
preceding  day.  The  regiment  was  marched  to  the  Common,  where 
a  great  crowd,  especially  on  the  Charles  Street  Mall,  was  gathered 
to  greet  it.  There  were  miUtary  salutes  and  an  exchange  of  speeches 
between  the  Mayor  and  Colonel  Lee.  "The  guns  were  then  stacked, 
and  the  men  broke  ranks.  At  this  moment  the  ladies  could  restrain 


The  Nineteenth  Century  6c 

their  feelings  no  longer.  Propriety  gave  way  to  nature,  and  they 
rushed  with  open  arms  upon  lovers,  brothers,  husbands,  sons  — 
and  perhaps  cousins  — a  female  avalanche  of  streaming  ribands 
and  fluttering  silks.  The  brave  fellows  stood  the  shock  Hke  men. 
They  deployed  as  skirmishers  and  attempted  to  foil  the  attacking 
party  with  their  own  weapons,  but  were  presently  captured  and 
led,  wilUng  prisoners,  to  the  refreshment-tables,  where  a  tempting 
array  of  flowers  and  edibles  was  presented.  The  male  relatives 
presently  came  in  for  their  share  of  the  greeting.  After  an  hour  or 
so  spent  in  social  conversation,  in  affectionate  questions  and  affec- 
tionate answers,  the  men  were  again  brought  into  line  and  went 
through  with  a  dress-parade,  to  the  great  satisfaction  of  the  spec- 
tators. The  regiment  was  then  dismissed  and  the  men  will  have  a 
furlough  till  Monday,  when  they  will  probably  go  to  Readville  and 
be  mustered  out  of  the  service." 

In  addition  to  all  these  occasions  involving  an  element  of  strong 
personal  feeling,  there  were  observances  of  great  events  in  the  prog- 
ress of  the  war.  On  April  11,  1862,  a  few  days  after  the  battle  of 
Shiloh,  a  salute  of  one  hundred  guns  was  fired  on  the  Common  in 
honor  of  recent  victories.  On  July  8,  1863,  the  news  from  Gettys- 
burg and  Vicksburg  gave  the  excuse  for  a  national  salute  of  thirty- 
five  guns.  The  Emancipation  Proclamation  was  celebrated  by  a 
salute  of  a  hundred  guns.  When  the  sailors  from  the  Russian  war 
vessels  Vitiaz  and  Oshaba  visited  Boston  Common  on  Jime  8,  1864, 
their  reception,  the  collation,  the  greeting  of  the  Latin  and  High 
School  boys,  all  gave  expression  to  a  national  response  to  the  friend- 
liness of  the  great  northern  power.  The  news  of  the  fall  of  Rich- 


66  Boston  Common 

mond  on  April  3, 1865,  was  celebrated  by  a  salute  on  the  Common; 
and  then  to  Boston,  as  to  all  the  North,  came  the  sudden  turning 
from  joy  to  sorrow.  The  minute  gims  on  the  day  of  Lincoln's  funeral, 
April  19,  were  as  unlike  those  of  a  fortnight  before  as  the  tolling  can 
be  unlike  the  pealing  of  bells.  In  the  afternoon  the  citizens  of  the 
six  northern  wards  of  the  city  met  on  the  Common.  Again  there 
were  stands  for  speakers,  but  the  words  were  the  words  of  mourning. 
Again  there  was  music,  but  the  bands  were  playing  dirges.  Here,  as 
everywhere  else,  the  national  grief  was  touched  with  that  strange 
personal  quality  always  inseparable  from  the  influence  of  Lincoln. 

With  the  transfer  of  the  battle-flags  of  Massachusetts  regiments 
to  the  keeping  of  the  Commonwealth,  on  December  22,  1865,  when 
the  military  representative  of  the  State  established  his  headquarters 
for  their  reception  on  the  Park  Street  Mall,  the  specific  war-time 
uses  of  the  Common  may  be  said  to  have  come  to  an  end.  In  no 
period  of  all  its  history  have  four  successive  years  seen  it  so  vitally 
bound  up  with  the  inmost  life  of  the  community.  The  bas-rehefs 
at  the  foot  of  Martin  Milmore's  Army  and  Navy  Monument, 
erected  on  Flag-Staff  Hill  in  1877,  tell  something  of  the  great  events 
which  these  pages  have  sought  to  recall;  and  the  noble  words  of 
President  Eliot's  inscription  pass  the  meaning  of  them  on  to  future 
generations. 

There  were  few  events  in  the  remaining  years  of  the  nineteenth 
century  which  call  for  extended  chronicle.  In  the  centennial  year, 
1876,  the  celebration  of  the  Fourth  of  July  thronged  the  malls  with 
booths,  the  Common  itself  with  multitudes  of  holiday-makers.  It 
was  estimated  that  between  fifty  and  a  hundred  thousand  persons 


The  Nineteenth  Century  67 

crowded  it  at  night  to  see  a  display  of  fireworks  which  was  to  have 
been  unusually  splendid,  but  because  of  a  high  wind  proved  a  dis- 
appointment. The  loss  of  what  might  have  been  was,  however,  a 
shght  affair  compared  with  the  loss  of  so  beloved  a  possession  as  the 
Great  Elm.  On  February  15,  1876,  this  ancient  tree,  already  badly 
mutilated  by  storms  of  1860  and  1869,  fell  before  a  high  wind.  The 
newspapers  of  the  succeeding  days  are  fairly  humid  \^ath  the  tears  of 
local  poets.  A  glory  had  indeed  departed  from  Israel.  The  measure- 
ments of  the  tree  by  the  City  Engineer  in  1855  showed  its  height  to 
be  seventy-two  feet,  six  inches;  its  girth  one  foot  above  the  ground, 
twenty-two  feet,  six  inches;  the  average  diameter  of  its  spread  where 
the  branches  were  broadest,  one  hundred  and  one  feet.  Whether  the 
true  scion  of  the  Old  Elm  is  now  growing  in  its  place,  or — as  there 
is  good  reason  to  beUeve  —  at  a  point  near  by  and  unmarked,  the 
making  of  such  another  tree  is  a  work  for  the  centuries  to  accomplish. 
The  loss  of  the  Old  Elm  may  have  served  a  good  purpose  in 
making  the  community  more  tenacious  of  all  its  other  possessions 
in  the  Common.  Salvations  from  one  threatened  encroachment 
after  another  have  occupied  many  Bostonians  for  a  generation 
past.  A  Western  observer  looks  reverently  upon  it  as  "a  cine 
ornament  for  which  people  have  fought,  bled,  and  written  letters 
to  the  'Evening  Transcript.' "  As  early  as  1869  the  city  gave  its 
permission  for  the  erection  of  a  building  for  a  great  musical  festival; 
but  the  popular  feeUng  against  such  an  employment  of  land  on  the 
Common  was  so  strong  that  the  famous  "Peace  Jubilee"  took  place 
elsewhere.  After  the  Boston  fire  of  1872,  when  merchants  strewed 
the  Common  with  the  rescued  contents  of  their  warehouses,  the 


68  Boston  Common 

building  of  temporary  stores  was  authorized.  It  was  not  found  prac- 
ticable or  necessary  to  take  advantage  of  the  permission,  though 
on  this  occasion  local  sentiment  would  probably  have  acquiesced. 
Not  so  in  1873,  when  the  demand  for  more  horse-car  tracks  on 
Tremont  Street  led  to  the  removal  of  the  Common  fence:  the  next 
year  it  was  restored.  Again,  in  1877,  the  Massachusetts  Charitable 
Mechanics'  Association  was  warmly  supported  in  its  appeal  for 
the  right  to  put  up  a  temporary  exhibition  building  on  the  parade- 
ground.  But  the  project  was  quite  as  warmly  opposed,  and  those 
who  opposed  it,  in  public  hearings,  remonstrances,  spoken  and 
written,  won  the  day.  Whenever  the  Common  cried  out  to  be  saved, 
there  was  an  army  ready  to  save  it. 

As  the  century  drew  to  a  close  the  conduct  of  a  modern  city 
raised  new  problems.  With  a  large  business  population  sleeping 
out  of  town  and  carried  by  electric  cars  to  the  high  office-buildings 
rising  on  every  hand,  the  conditions  of  street-traffic,  especially  on 
Tremont  Street,  became  unbearable.  Various  solutions  of  the  dif- 
ficulty were  proposed  —  the  widening  of  Tremont  Street,  the  exten- 
sion of  surface  cars  across  the  Common  in  a  line  with  Columbus 
Avenue,  or  through  an  open  trench  with  overhead  bridges  for 
pedestrians.  "Save  the  Common"  again  became  a  slogan  —  and 
the  form  of  salvation  finally  adopted,  as  the  plan  involving  least 
of  actual  loss,  was  the  building  of  the  present  Subway,  begim  in 
1895.  The  chief  loss  of  outward  beauty  lay  in  supplanting  the  ven- 
erable trees  along  Tremont  Street  with  the  broken  row  of  Subway 
stations.  But  the  problem  was,  to  face  the  future  without  doing 
more  than  the  inevitable  violence  to  the  past. 


The  Nineteenth  Century  69 

One  violence  there  was,  of  a  rather  gruesome  sort.  When  the 
Boylston  Street  MaU  was  opened  in  1836  it  covered  a  num- 
ber of  tombs  and  graves  in  the  Common  Burial-Ground.  In 
the  excavation  for  the  Subway  these  were  necessarily  disturbed. 
The  care  of  the  human  fragments  which  came  to  light  was  entrusted 
to  Dr.  Samuel  A.  Green,  who  estimated  that  the  bones  brought 
together  and  decently  reinterred  represented  more  than  nine  hun- 
dred persons.  Among  them  —  as  if  justice  were  always  to  have  its 
poetic  vindication  —  must  have  been  the  progenitors  of  an  owner 
of  one  of  the  Boylston  Street  tombs  who  violently  resisted  the  im- 
provements of  1836.  He  is  said  to  have  told  the  Mayor  that  "he 
would  stand  at  the  door  of  his  tomb  with  a  drawn  sword  before  it 
should  be  closed,  or  the  bones  of  his  ancestors  removed! "  Persuaded 
finally  to  accept  in  exchange  one  of  the  new  tombs  along  the  walk 
from  Park  Square  to  West  Street,  he  repUed  to  the  Mayor's  sugges- 
tion that  a  sexton  be  engaged  to  make  the  solemn  transfer:  "Mr. 
Mayor,  you  don't  suppose  I'm  going  to  have  my  new  tomb  dirtied 
up  with  those  old  bones!  No,  close  up  the  old  one  and  let  'em  be!" 

New  tombs  and  old  bones  —  the  morahst  could  draw  hLs  parallels 
without  number  from  these  starting-points.  But  that  attempt  at 
draughtsmanship  shall  not  be  undertaken  here.  Between  1800  and 
1900  the  old  Common  gave  place  entirely  to  the  new.  The  essen- 
tials were  still  there  when  he  nineteenth  century  ended,  and  in 
general  they  had  gained  much  from  the  passage  of  time  and  from 
piouus  care.  W  ith  this  gain  there  was  also  transmitted  to  the  twen- 
tieth century  a  rich  store  of  memories  and  associations  making  the 
Common  dearer  than  ever  to  its  inheritors. 


IV 

THE  TWENTIETH  CENTURY 

THE  fourth  century  in  which  Boston  Common  has  been 
Boston  Common  is  still  so  fractional  a  thing  that  a  few 
pages  will  hold  all  that  needs  to  be  said  about  it.  One  fact  may  be 
stated  without  reservation.  It  was  a  fortunate  thing  that  Boston 
in  the  year  1900  had  as  one  of  its  most  conspicuous  citizens  Dr. 
Edward  Everett  Hale.  The  town  was  correspondingly  fortimate 
to  have  Judge  Samuel  Sewall  in  the  year  1700.  The  two  men  had 
many  points  of  obvious  unlikeness;  but  they  were  alike  in  standing 
each  as  a  vigorous  and  individual  representative  of  his  own  day. 
We  have  seen  with  what  results  Judge  Sewall  interested  himself 
in  welcoming  the  eighteenth  century  on  Boston  Common.  It  was 
characteristic  of  Dr.  Hale  not  only  to  recall  the  page  of  Sewall's 
diary  for  January  1,  1701,  but  also  to  translate  its  suggestion  into 
the  terms  of  modern  hfe.  The  resulting  celebration  of  the  entrance 
of  the  present  century  stands  by  itself  in  the  annals  of  the  Common. 
At  a  quarter  before  the  midnight  hour  of  December  SI,  1900, 
there  were  gathered  on  the  balcony  of  the  State  House,  lighted  by 
swinging  lanterns,  nearly  two  hundred  singers  from  the  Handel  and 
Haydn  and  the  Cecilia  Societies,  four  cornet-players, — the  nearest 
available  approach  to  the  trumpeters  of  Sewall's  time, —  Governor 
Crane,  Dr.  Hale,  and  a  few  others.  The  trumpeters  sounded 
"tattoo"  or  "taps"  — the  "Transcript"  and  Dr.  Hale's  notes 
written  the  next  day  differ  on  this  point — and  the  great  assembly, 


The  Twentieth  Century  71 

crowding  the  State  House  yard  and  the  streets,  and  stretching  far 
off  into  the  Common,  sang  a  stanza  of  Old  Hundred,  "Be  Thou,  O 
God,  exalted  high."  Selections  from  the  Ninetieth  Psalm  —  "A 
thousand  years  in  Thy  sight  are  but  as  yesterday  when  it  is  past, 
and  as  a  watch  in  the  night,"  "So  teach  us  to  number  our  days  that 
we  may  apply  our  hearts  unto  wisdom"  —  these  and  other  verses 
were  then  read  by  Dr.  Hale.  "People  were  still  as  death,"  he  wrote 
the  next  day.  "The  balcony  and  people  made  a  good  sounding- 
board.  My  voice  was  all  right,  and  I  read  very  slowly.  I  have 
since  seen  people  who  were  nearly  as  far  away  as  Winter  Street 
who  heard  me.  [I  have  been  asked  a  hundred  times  if  I  used  a  mega- 
phone. But  here  is  simply  an  illustration  of  the  power  of  the  human 
voice  if  the  listeners  will  keep  still.] "  On  this  reading  followed  the 
singing  of  Sewall's  Hymn,  written  two  centuries  before.  The  invo- 
cation of  its  second  hne, "  Tame  Thou  the  rigor  of  our  cUme,"  seemed  to 
be  answered  in  what  the  "Transcript"  called  the  "unseasonable  but 
opportune  warmth  of  the  night."  Then  the  trumpeters  again  — 
and  silence  till  the  King's  Chapel  bell  began  to  strike  the  midnight 
hour,  so  slowly  that  a  blast  on  the  trumpets  could  be  blown  between 
the  strokes.  The  new  century  was  here  —  welcomed  also  from 
every  part  of  the  city  with  bells  and  whistles.  But  the  ceremony 
on  Beacon  Hill  lasted  a  few  minutes  longer  while  all  the  people,  from 
Governor  to  newsboys,  joined  in  saying  the  Lord's  Prayer,  singing 
"America,"  and  Hstening  in  silence  to  the  final  words  of  Dr.  Hale, 
"God  bless  our  city,  our  State,  and  our  country."  The  trumpets 
then  sounded  the  reveille  and  the  people  quietly  dispersed  to  their 
homes.   "I  do  not  think  they  thought  of  it  as  a  religious  service 


72  Boston  Common 

when  they  came,"  said  Dr.  Hale,  "but  they  all  did  when  they  went 
away."  The  night  endures  in  memory  as  something  impressively 
serious,  democratic,  and  unifying  in  its  appeal  both  to  the  historic 
and  to  the  civic  sense. 

Thus  begun,  the  new  century  has  dealt  with  Boston  Common 
much  as  it  is  deaUng  with  everything  else  in  the  world.  There  has 
been  no  sudden  turning  of  a  corner,  no  opening  of  new  vistas  from 
a  hilltop  laboriously  gained.  The  life  of  the  community  moves,  as 
it  has  always  moved,  across  the  familiar  paths  and  open  spaces. 
The  Conimon  is  still  a  place  of  recreation  for  young  and  old.  The 
summer  and  winter  sports  exercise  all  their  ancient  spell.  Up  and 
down  the  well-trod  walks  the  pursuit  of  business  and  of  pleasure, 
and  of  the  two  made  one,  is  steadily  continued.  The  benches  ac- 
commodate the  unwillingly  and  .the  willingly  unemployed,  the 
representatives  of  a  great  leisure  class,  in  ever-increasing  numbers. 
Pigeons  and  squirrels  learn  day  by  day  that  the  people  of  Boston  go 
armed  with  nuts  and  biscuit,  and  not  with  implements  of  destruc- 
tion. For  those  who  would  feed  the  mind  and  spirit  with  a  varied 
dietary,  there  are  the  Sunday  afternoon  orators,  oflFering  sustenance 
in  every  cause,  social,  poUtical,  religious.  The  doctrines  may  be 
new,  but  the  town  itself  is  hardly  older  than  the  use  of  the  Common 
for  the  free  expression  of  current  opinions. 

One  new  thing  has  come  to  the  Common  in  the  jBnal  years  of  the 
first  decade  of  this  century.  The  new  thing  can  hardly  be  called  a 
sense  of  permanence,  for  that  has  long  existed;  but  there  has  come 
a  definite  and  effective  confirmation  of  this  sense.  There  died  in 
September,  1908,  a  citizen  of  Boston,  Mr.  George  F.  Parkman,  who 


The  Twentieth  Century  73 

had  lived  for  many  years  in  a  house  overlooking  the  Common.  In 
a  codicil  to  his  will,  disposing  of  an  ample  fortune,  he  bequeathed 
to  the  City  of  Boston  a  fund,  found  to  exceed  five  million  dollars, 
"the  income  of  which  is  to  be  apphed  to  the  maintenance  and  im- 
provement of  the  Common  and  the  Parks  now  existing."  In  the 
body  of  the  will  it  is  seen  that  the  benefactor  planned  his  bequest 
"to  the  City  of  Boston  in  the  hope  and  expectation  that  the  Boston 
Common  shall  never  be  diverted  from  its  present  use  as  a  public 
park  for  the  benefit  and  enjoyment  of  its  citizens."  The  past  of  the 
Common  is  secure:  it  has  become  a  fixed  possession  of  local  history 
and  sentiment.  Now  it  appears  that  the  future  is  also  secure. 

What  will  this  future  hold?  Surely  nothing  more  noteworthy  in 
the  field  of  suggestive  contrast  than  the  two  facts  with  which  this 
brief  historical  record  begins  and  ends.  In  1634  every  householder 
of  the  town  was  taxed  six  shilUngs  and  upwards  to  raise  thirty 
pounds,  one  hundred  and  fifty  dollars,  for  the  purchase  of  Boston 
Common.  In  1908  one  citizen  left  five  milhon  dollars,  out  of  the 
income  of  which  it  is  to  be  maintained. 


POSTSCRIPT,  1921 

rriHE  year  in  which  a  young  century  attains  its  majority  af- 
fords  a  terminus  for  such  a  book  as  this  far  more  appropri- 
ate than  any  such  indistinguishable  date  as  1910.  The  pages  im- 
mediately preceding  these  dealt  with  "The  Twentieth  Century" 
merely  in  its  infancy.  From  childhood  the  century  has  now  passed 
to  manhood,  and  the  transition  has  been  accomplished  under  con- 
ditions for  which  no  precedent  exists.  Between  1910  and  1921  the 
years  have  been  packed,  for  all  the  world,  with  events  material  and 
spiritual,  with  readjustments  and  realizations,  of  a  scope  which  a 
hundred  ordinary  years  could  hardly  compass.  All  these  have  had 
their  visible  expression  on  Boston  Common,  never  before  so  mani- 
festly a  mirror  of  the  hfe  of  Boston  itself,  of  the  country,  even  of  the 
world. 

In  one  particular  the  Common  has  undergone  changes  of  outward 
aspect  which  would  have  come  about  just  as  surely  if  there  had  been 
no  such  thing  as  a  World  War.  The  diligent  expenditure  of  the 
income  from  the  Parkman  Fund  has  bent  some  of  the  paths  from 
their  ancient  courses;  has  cut  new  ones,  for  purposes  not  always 
clear;  has  provided  them,  new  and  old,  with  a  lavish,  granolithic 
smoothness  and  dryness;  has  enriched  the  soil  in  grassy  places  and 
applied  scientific  surgery  and  other  attentions  to  the  trees;  has 
erected  a  granite  temple  of  music  for  the  uses  of  a  band-stand;  and 
withal  has  made  the  Common  a  scene  of  industry  from  which  the 
fruits  of  restfulness  may  be  expected  to  grow  for  future  generations. 


Postscript^    I  92  I  yr 

The  latest  activity  of  picks,  shovels,  and  carts  has  been  one  of  the 
most  beneficent  —  the  levelling  of  the  bare  tract  near  Charles  Street, 
long  devoted  to  baseball  and  other  games.  ^  This  contribution  to  the 
practical  enjoyment  of  the  Common  by  the  most  energetic  younger 
citizens  of  Boston  may  appear  to  leave  little  remaining  undone,  but 
the  civic  imagination  is  fertile,  and  only  a  rash  prophet  would  pre- 
dict the  changes  that  could  not  possibly  be  chronicled  in  a  further 
addition  to  these  pages  ten  years  hence.  Ten  years  ago  nobody 
could  have  foretold  that  in  1920  the  portentous  congestion  of  ve- 
hicle traffic  on  Boylston  and  Tremont  Streets  would  lead  to  the 
substantial  widening  of  these  streets  by  the  paring-away  of  the 
footpaths  that  edge  the  Common,  and  this  without  serious  opposi- 
tion from  any  portion  of  the  public. 

The  recent  physical  changes  thus  briefly  summarized  are  as  per- 
manent as  any  such  changes  can  be.  While  they  have  been  in  the 
making,  many  another  change  has  come  and  gone  with  the  coming 
and  going  of  the  World  War.  From  the  time  the  United  States 
formally  joined  the  Allied  Powers  until  our  soldiers  and  sailors  were 
reabsorbed  into  the  civilian  population,  the  Common  presented 
many  scenes  of  extraordinary  significance. 

At  least  one  older  man  of  affairs  in  Boston  was  wont  to  express 
his  scepticism  on  any  debatable  point  by  exclaiming,  "  I  '11  believe 
that  when  I  see  buffaloes  on  the  Common."  Deer  he  might  have 
seen  there  in  years  gone  by.  Before  the  war  a  camel,  which  imparted 
a  flavor  of  true  orientahsm  to  a  "  sumptuous  production  "  in  a  Boston 

^  Even  as  this  book  passes  through  the  press,  a  still  later  activity  is  in  progress: 
the  cobbled  bottom  of  the  Frog  Pond  gives  place  to  concrete. 


76  Boston  Common 

theatre,  might  have  been  observed  enjoying  his  daily  exercise  along 
the  Charles  Street  Mall.  But  if  the  buffaloes  have  not  yet  appeared, 
the  Bostonian  who  conjured  with  their  absence  had  only  to  look 
out  of  his  office  windows  during  one  of  the  "drives"  of  the  war 
period  to  see  that  even  more  exotic  animal,  the  elephant,  marched 
to  and  fro  in  the  Common  for  the  speedier  conversion  of  American 
patriotism  into  cash. 

The  Common  —  particularly  that  corner  of  it  which  fronts 
Tremont  Street  in  the  neighborhood  of  Park  Street  —  presented 
many  spectacles  quite  as  strange  as  elephants  in  1917  and  the  two 
years  that  immediately  followed.  One  of  these  was  afforded  by  the 
Boston  headquarters  of  a  British  and  Canadian  Recruiting  IMission 
—  with  friendly  "  kilties  "  received  as  warmly  by  the  local  public  as 
the  "red-coats"  of  the  eighteenth  century  were  detested.  The 
recruiting  stations  for  the  Army,  Navy,  and  Marine  Corps  of  the 
United  States  were  but  the  modern  equivalents  of  the  recruiting 
tents  used  on  the  Common  during  the  Civil  War.  Without  any  such 
precedent  were  the  huts  of  the  Y.  M.  C.  A.,  the  Knights  of  Colum- 
bus, Salvation  Army,  and  the  American  Red  Cross.  The  Army  and 
Navy  Canteen,  in  which  departing  and  returning  soldiers  and  sailors 
enjoyed  the  ministrations  of  a  devoted  band  of  local  "war  work- 
ers," the  City  of  Boston  Employment  Bureau,  the  War  Camp  Com- 
munity Service,  the  Boston  War  Work  Council,  the  United  States 
Interdepartmental  Social  Hygiene  Board,  the  War  Service  Com- 
mittee —  each  of  these  made  its  own  contribution  on  the  Common 
to  the  welfare  of  the  young  men  in  khaki  and  blue.  There  was  also 
\Jie  "Liberty  Cottage,"  a  small  building  opposite  West  Street,  the 


Postscript^  1 9  2  I  77 

busy  nucleus  for  the  acti\-ities  of  the  Mayor's  Reception  Committee 
for  Returning  Soldiers,  Sailors,  and  Marines,  of  Liberty  Loan  and 
Red  Cross  drives.  From  its  portico  impassioned  bond  salesmen 
poiured  forth  their  oratory,  professional  and  amateur  actors,  ac- 
tresses, and  singers,  with  and  without  megaphones,  beguiled  the 
passers-by;  and  when  the  war  was  over,  such  scenes  as  the  bestowal 
of  the  Congressional  Medal  of  Honor  on  Lieutenant-Colonel  Whit- 
tlesey of  the  Lost  Battalion  were  here  enacted. 

Near  the  "down-town"  end  of  the  path  leading  from  the  West 
Street  crossing  to  Park  Street  stood  a  group  of  five  little  buildings 
bearing  the  general  name  of  "Food  Administration  Cottages." 
Planned  by  the  Food  Administration  of  Massachusetts,  they  were 
erected  and  maintained,  under  the  following  names,  by  the  organi- 
zations and  for  the  purposes  named  in  connection  \^^th  each:  Num- 
ber 1,  Food  Facts  Cottage,  by  the  Women's  City  Club,  to  distribute 
hterature  and  information  about  food;  Number  2,  Child  W^elfare 
Cottage,  by  the  Boston  Public  Safety  Committee  and  the  Boston 
Food  Conservation  Committee,  to  give  information  and  instruction 
about  Child  Welfare;  Number  3,  Administration  Cottage,  by  the 
Public  Safety  Committee  of  Massachusetts,  for  lectures,  meetings, 
and  exhibitions  for  the  State  food  work;  Number  4,  Civic  Federa- 
tion Cottage,  by  the  New  England  Branch  of  the  National  Ci\'ic 
Federation,  for  daily  demonstrations  in  cooking,  canning,  and  dry- 
ing; Number  5,  Red  Cross  Cottage,  by  the  Metropohtan  Chapter 
of  the  American  Red  Cross,  to  exhibit  its  work  and  obtain  member- 
ships in  the  Red  Cross  organization.  A  porch  on  the  Administration 
Cottage  was  built  and  maintained  by  the  Women's  Municipal 


yS  Boston  Common 

League,  for  the  display  of  food  exhibits.  In  the  same  enclosure  with 
all  these  buildings  were  war  gardens,  maintained  and  cultivated  by 
the  War  Senice  Committee  of  the  Women's  City  Club  and  the  Girl 
Scouts,  and  a  hen-house  and  yard,  built  and  maintained  by  the 
Massachusetts  State  Agricultural  College,  for  giving  all  possible 
information  on  the  care  of  poultry.  In  this  enclosure  also  patriotic 
moving  pictures  and  community  singing  night  after  night  brought 
together  a  large  number  of  persons,  to  excellent  piu-pose. 

On  the  work  done  in  each  of  these  cottages,  and  at  all  the  other 
little  structures  which  law  and  sentiment  would  have  excluded  from 
the  precincts  of  the  Common  at  any  other  time,  whole  chapters  might 
be  written.  Little  more  than  an  imperfect  catalogue  of  manifold 
activities  can  be  given  here,  but  it  will  not  have  been  given  in  vain  if 
it  causes  the  reader  to  apprehend  the  diversity  of  "groups"  and  in- 
terests represented  on  the  Common,  and  typifying  the  participation 
of  the  whole  American  pubhc  in  the  conduct  of  the  war.  To  the 
scenes  these  activities  provided  should  be  added  at  least  a  mention 
of  such  other  spectacles  as  an  incipient  riot  provoked  by  a  man  who 
failed  to  remove  his  hat  during  the  playing  of  the  Marseillaise;  a 
coimtry  cattle  sale,  to  raise  funds  for  buying  seeds  for  the  Food  Con- 
servation campaign;  the  exhibition  of  a  captured  German  field-gun, 
and  anti-aircraft  gun,  guarded  day  and  night  by  soldiers  tented 
near  by,  and  of  a  captive  balloon  and  searchlights  provided  by  the 
United  States  Government  to  forward  Liberty  Loan  subscriptions. 

The  mere  enumeration  of  some  of  these  varied  scenes  will  serve  the 
present  purpose,  which  is  to  recall  the  great  and  intensely  practical 
uses  to  which  the  Common  was  put  during  the  years  when  City, 


Postscript^  1921  79 

State,  and  Nation  were  calling  upon  every  man,  woman,  and  child 
for  the  best  they  had  to  give  to  the  imperilled  cause  of  civihzation. 
The  unsubstantial  pageant  has  faded  and  left  not  a  rack  behind  — 
unless  it  be  in  the  signs  that  remind  one  of  the  vanished  recruiting 
booths:  "Keep  oflP  the  Grass:  if  you  want  to  roam,  join  the  Navy." 
Great  these  uses  of  the  Common  were,  but  not  strange.  They  af- 
ford the  perfectly  fitting  cUmax  of  the  story  of  this  bit  of  Boston 
territory,  not  only  as  the  twentieth  century  passes  from  youth  into 
manhood,  but  as  Boston  itself  approaches  the  completion  of  its  third 
century  of  existence.  Never  before  in  all  its  nearly  three  hundred 
years  has  the  town  or  city  so  manifestly  needed  a  universal  meeting- 
place  for  its  citizens  of  all  degrees  as  through  the  time  when  America 
joined  whole-heartedly  in  the  effort  of  the  world  to  save  itself  from 
ruin.  No  single  building,  no  public  square,  could  have  met  the 
mighty  need.  The  Common  was  there  to  meet  it,  and  the  people 
of  Boston,  employing  all  their  talents  of  organization  and  coopera- 
tion, seized  upon  it  as  their  theatre  of  action.  The  stage-settings 
have  been  removed;  the  actors  have  gone  their  several  ways;  but 
the  war-time  Common  has  become  a  treasure  of  local  and  national 
memory  which  will  endure. 


THE   END 


yS  Boston  Common 

League,  for  the  display  of  food  exhibits.  In  the  same  enclosure  with 
all  these  buildings  were  war  gardens,  maintained  and  cultivated  by 
the  War  Service  Committee  of  the  Women's  City  Club  and  the  Girl 
Scouts,  and  a  hen-house  and  yard,  built  and  maintained  by  the 
Massachusetts  State  Agricultural  College,  for  giving  all  possible 
information  on  the  care  of  poultry.  In  this  enclosure  also  patriotic 
moving  pictures  and  community  singing  night  after  night  brought 
together  a  large  number  of  persons,  to  excellent  purpose. 

On  the  work  done  in  each  of  these  cottages,  and  at  all  the  other 
little  structures  which  law  and  sentiment  would  have  excluded  from 
the  precincts  of  the  Common  at  any  other  time,  whole  chapters  might 
be  written.  Little  more  than  an  imperfect  catalogue  of  manifold 
activities  can  be  given  here,  but  it  will  not  have  been  given  in  vain  if 
it  causes  the  reader  to  apprehend  the  diversity  of  "groups"  and  in- 
terests represented  on  the  Common,  and  typifying  the  participation 
of  the  whole  American  public  in  the  conduct  of  the  war.  To  the 
scenes  these  activities  provided  should  be  added  at  least  a  mention 
of  such  other  spectacles  as  an  incipient  riot  provoked  by  a  man  who 
failed  to  remove  his  hat  during  the  playing  of  the  Marseillaise;  a 
coimtry  cattle  sale,  to  raise  funds  for  buying  seeds  for  the  Food  Con- 
servation campaign;  the  exhibition  of  a  captured  German  field-gun, 
and  anti-eircraft  gun,  guarded  day  and  night  by  soldiers  tented 
near  by,  and  of  a  captive  balloon  and  searchlights  provided  by  the 
United  States  Government  to  forward  Liberty  Loan  subscriptions. 

The  mere  enumeration  of  some  of  these  varied  scenes  will  sers-e  the 
present  purpose,  which  is  to  recall  the  great  and  intensely  practical 
uses  to  which  the  Common  was  put  during  the  years  when  City, 


Postscript^  1921  79 

State,  and  Nation  were  calling  upon  every  man,  woman,  and  child 
for  the  best  they  had  to  give  to  the  imperilled  cause  of  civihzation. 
The  unsubstantial  pageant  has  faded  and  left  not  a  rack  behind  — 
unless  it  be  in  the  signs  that  remind  one  of  the  vanished  recruiting 
booths:  "Keep  off  the  Grass:  if  you  want  to  roam,  join  the  Navy." 
Great  these  uses  of  the  Common  were,  but  not  strange.  They  af- 
ford the  perfectly  fitting  cUmax  of  the  story  of  this  bit  of  Boston 
territory,  not  only  as  the  twentieth  century  passes  from  youth  into 
manhood,  but  as  Boston  itself  approaches  the  completion  of  its  third 
century  of  existence.  Never  before  in  all  its  nearly  three  hundred 
years  has  the  town  or  city  so  manifestly  needed  a  universal  meeting- 
place  for  its  citizens  of  all  degrees  as  through  the  time  when  America 
joined  whole-heartedly  in  the  effort  of  the  world  to  save  itself  from 
ruin.  No  single  building,  no  public  square,  could  have  met  the 
mighty  need.  The  Common  was  there  to  meet  it,  and  the  people 
of  Boston,  employing  all  their  talents  of  organization  and  coopera- 
tion, seized  upon  it  as  their  theatre  of  action.  The  stage-settings 
have  been  removed;  the  actors  have  gone  their  several  ways;  but 
the  war-time  Common  has  become  a  treasure  of  local  and  national 
memory  which  will  endure. 


THE   END 


SOURCES  OF  INFORMATION 

GENERAL 

Justin  Winsor  (editor) :  The  Memorial  History  of  Boston.  Boston,  1880-1881. 
Nathaniel  B.  Shurtleff :  A  Topographical  and  Historical  Description  of  Boston 
Boston,  1871. 

I.  The  Seventeenth  Centubt 
Second  Report  of  the  Record  Commissioners  of  the  City  of  Boston.  Boston,  18T7. 
Samuel  Sewall:  Diary  (in  Massachusetts  Historical  Society  Collections). 

Boston,  1878-188^. 
Francis  Parkman:  The  Old  Rigime  in  Canada  (revised,  with  additions). 

Boston,  1896. 
Richard  Price  Hallowell:  The  Quaker  Invasion  of  Massachusetts.  Boston. 

1883. 
Horatio  Rogers:  Mary  Dyer  of  Rhode  Island,  the  Quaker  Martyr  that  was 

hanged  on  Boston  Commxm.  Providence,  1896. 
George  Bishop:  New  England  Judged  by  the  Spirit  of  the  Lord.  London,  1661 

and  1667-1703. 
Joseph  Besse:  An  Abstract  of  the  Sufferings  of  the  People  called  Quakers. 

London,  1733-1738. 
Joseph  Besse:  A  Collation  of  the  Sufferings  of  the  People  called  Quakers. 

London,  1753. 
A  Call  from  Life  to  Death.  London,  1660.     (Reprinted,  Providence,  1865.) 
John  Gough :  A  History  of  the  People  called  Quakers.  Dublin,  1789. 
Thomas  Story:  A  Journal  of  the  Life  of  Thomas  Story.  Newcastle  upon 

Tyne,  1747. 
Quaker  Tracts  in  Boston  Public  Library  and  John  Carter  Brown  Library. 

n.  The  Eighteenth  Centubt 

Samuel  Sewall:  Diary. 

John  Dun  ton:  Letters  from  New  England.  Boston  (Prince  Society),  1867. 
Samuel  G.  Drake:  History  and  Antiquities  of  Boston.  Boston,  1856. 
Samuel  Adams  Drake:  Old  Landmarks  and  Historic  Personages  of  Boston. 

Boston,  1873. 
Transactions  of  the  Colcmial  Society. 

Lucius  Manlius  Sargent:  Dealings  with  the  Dead.  Boston,  1856. 
Edwin  M.  Bacon:  Bacon's  Dictionary  of  Boston.  Boston,  1886. 
Proceedings  of  the  Massachusetts  Historical  Society  (Bennett's  Journal; 

Letters  of  John  Andrews;  Belknap's  Journal). 


82  Sources  of  Information 

Publications  of  the  Bostonian  Society. 

Anne  Rowe  Cunningham  (editor) :  Letters  and  Diary  of  John  Rowe,  Boston 

Merchant.  Boston,  1903. 
Charles  Knowles  Bolton  (editor) :  Letters  of  Hugh,  Earl  Percy,  from  Boston 

and  New  York,  1774-1776.  Boston,  1902. 
(John  Barker):  A  British  Officer  in  Boston  in  1775.   In  Atlaniic  Monthly, 

April  and  May,  1877, 
Mary  Farwell  Ayer:  Boston  Common  in  Colonial  and  Provincial  Times. 

Boston,  1903.  Early  Days  on  Boston  Common.  Boston,  1910. 
Richard  Frothingham:  History  of  the  Siege  of  Boston.  Boston,  1849. 
Horace  E.  Scudder  (editor):  Recollections  of  Samuel  Breck.  Philadelphia, 

1877. 
Boston  Newspapers  of  the  Eighteenth  Century. 

in.  The  Nineteenth  Centurt 

Charles  Shaw :  A  Topographical  and  Historical  Description  of  Boston.  Bo» 

ton,  1817. 
Publications  of  the  Bostonian  Society. 
Josiah  Quincy:  Figures  of  the  Past.  Boston,  1888. 
Boston  City  Council :  The  Railroad  Jubilee.  Boston,  1852. 
Edward  Everett  Hale:  A  New  England  Boyhood.  New  York,  189S. 
J.  D'W.  Lovett:  Old  Boston  Boys  and  the  Games  They  Played.  Boston,  1906. 
John  G.  Hales:  A  Survey  of  Boston  and  Its  Vicinity,  etc.  Boston,  1821. 
Henry  G.  Pearson:  The  Life  of  John  A.  Andrew.  Boston,  1904. 
William  Schouler:  A  History  of  Massachusetts  in  the  Civil  War.  Boston,  1868. 
Warren  H.  Cudworth:  History  of  the  First  Regiment,  Massachusetts  Infantry. 

Boston,  1866. 
Louis  C.  Elson:  The  National  Music  of  America  and  its  Sources.  Boston. 

1900. 
Benjamin  F.  Cook:  History  of  the  Twelfth  Massachusetts  Volunteers.  Boston. 

1882. 
The  Public  Rights  in  Boston  Common:  Being  the  Report  of  a  Committee  oj 

Citizens.  Boston,  1877. 
Boston  Transit  Commission's  First  Report.  Boston,  1895. 
Boston  Newspapers  of  the  Nineteenth  Century. 

IV.  The  Twentieth  Century 

Edward  Everett  Hale:  Memories  of  a  Hundred  Years.  New  York,  1902. 
Boston  City  Document  69,  1909,  containing  Will  of  George  F.  Parkman. 
Boston  Newspapers,  1901-1921. 


INDEX 


INDEX 


Alford,  Mr..  19. 

Allen,  "a  Priest,"  15. 

"America,"  Dr.  S.  F.  Smith's,  43,  62,  71. 

Ames,  Richard,  34. 

Amherst,  Gen.  Jeffrey,  28. 

Amsden,  Jacob,  19. 

Ancient  and  Honoralle  Artillery  G>m- 

pany,  5,  3C;  election,  52,  53. 
Andrew,  Gov.  John  A.,  59,  62,  63. 
Andrews,  John,  36,  37. 
Armstrong,  Mayor  Samuel  T.,  41. 
Army  and  Navy  Canteen,  76. 
Artillery  Election,  52,  53. 
Atherton,  Gen.  Humphrey,  18. 
"Autocrat,"  The,  21,  57. 

Back  Bay,  22,  45. 

Ball,  Thomas,  51. 

Barker,  Lt.  John,  34,  37. 

Baseball,  55. 

Battery  \Miarf,  62. 

Battle-flags,  Massachusetts,  66. 

Beacon  Hill.  5,  70,  71. 

Beacon  Street,  3,  41,  55,  62. 

Beacon  Street  Mall,  39,  41,  50,  61,  55,  61, 

64. 
Belknap,  Jeremy,  38. 
Bennet,  Capt.,  27. 
Berkeley  Street,  45. 
Bernard,  Gov.  Francis,  31. 
Besse,  Joseph,  8n.,  9,  12,  14.  15,  17. 
Bishop,  George,  9,  10,  11,  13,  17. 
Black  Hawk,  47. 
"Black  Prince,"  51. 
Blackstone.  See  Blaxton. 
Blaxton,  Rev.  William,  2,  S. 
Boats,  toy,  on  Frog  Pond,  54. 
Boston  Brigade,  46,  47. 
Boston  Common,  bought  from  William 

Blaxton.  S;  training-field  and  pasture. 


3-6 ;  traditional  scene  of  Qtaker  execti'> 
tions,  7-18;  18th  century  welcomed  on, 
19;  "Pope  Day"  on,  20;  duels  on,  21 ; 
Whitefield  on,  22-24 ;  spinners  on,  24, 
25 ;  trees  planted  on,  25,  26 ;  military 
uses  of,  26 ;  fall  of  Louisburg  celebrated 
on,  27, 28 ;  troops  of  "  Old  French  War  " 
on,  28,  29;  Stamp  Act  repeal  cele- 
brated on,  29,  30;  uses  of,  in  Revolu- 
tionarj'  period,  31-40 ;  changes  on  and 
about,  during  19th  century,  41-45; 
Lafayette  honored  on.  45,  46 ;  Andrew 
Jackson  honored  on,  46,  47;  Indian 
war-dance  on,  47,  48 ;  "  Water  Celebra- 
tion" on,  48,  49;  portion  of  "Railroad 
Jubilee"  on,  50,  51;  Prince  of  Wales 
honored  on,  51 ;  regular  festivals  ob- 
served on,  52-54 ;  uses  of,  for  recreation, 
54-56 ;  walking  on,  56,  57 ;  Ellsworth's 
Zouaves  on,  58 ;  uses  of,  during  the  Ci^'il 
War,  58-66;  salvaUons  of,  67-69;  20th 
centurj-  wekomed  on,  70-72 ;  provision 
for,  under  will  of  G.  F.  Parkman,  72, 
73;  employment  of  Parkman  fund  on, 
74,  75;  improved  playground  on,  75; 
strip  taken  from,  for  street-widening, 
75 ;  in  the  World  War,  75-80. 

"Boston  Daily  Advertiser,"  45,  48,  58, 
60,  61,  63,  64. 

Boston  Emploj-ment  Bureau,  76. 

"Boston  Evening  Post,"  24,  27,  28,  84. 

"Boston  Evening  Transcript,"  67,  70. 

Boston  Food  Conservation  Committee, 
77. 

"Boston  Gazette  and  Country  Journal," 
81,  33.  35. 

"Boston  Globe,"  66. 

"Boston  Herald,"  56. 

"  Boston  Post-Boy  and  Advertiser,"  W. 

Boston  Public  Safety  Committee.  77. 


86 


Index 


Boston  War  Work  Council,  76. 
"Boston  Weekly  News-Letter,"  22,  24. 
Boutwell,  George  S.,  50. 
Boydell.  John,  21. 
Boylston  Street,  38,  57,  75. 
Boylston  Street  Mall,  57,  69. 
Braintree,  51. 
Brimstone  Comer,  43,  44. 
British  and  Canadian    Recruiting    Mis- 
sion, 76. 
Bunker  Hill,  battle  of,  37. 
Bunker  Hill  Monument,  46. 
Biu-goyne,  Gen.  John,  36. 
Burial-Ground,  Common,  67,  69. 
Byles,  Rev.  Mather,  33. 

Cambridge,  27. 

Camp  Cameron,  59. 

Canavan,  M.  J.,  8n. 

Canton  Packet,  54. 

Captain,  man-of-war,  29. 

Carpets,  beating,  54. 

Carver  Street,  38. 

Cecilia  Society,  70. 

Gentry  Hill,  4,  5. 

Charles  River  Basin,  62. 

Charles  Street,  3,  38,  45,  60. 

Charles  Street  Mall,  41,  50,  64. 

Charlestown,  2,  46. 

Chaimcy,  Rev.  Charles,  35. 

Checkley,  Rev.  Samuel,  22. 

Choate,  Rufus,  56. 

CivU  War,  uses  of  Conunon  during,  58-66. 

Clarendon  Street,  45. 

Clinton,  Gen.  Henry,  36, 

Coasting,  British  soldiers  and,  40;  in  19tb 

century,  55,  56. 
Cochituate,  Lake,  48,  49. 
Colbron,  William,  4. 
Colonnade  Row,  43. 
Columbus  Ave.,  68. 
Concord,  36. 
Cooke,  Rev.  Samuel,  84. 
Cooper,  Rev.  Samuel,  26. 
Copp's  Hill.  20. 


Cornwallis,  Lord,  40. 
Cotton,  Rev.  John,  4. 
Cows,  4.  33,  42,  54. 
Crane,  Gov.  W.  Murray,  70. 

"Dealings  with  the  Dead,"  33. 

Deer  Park,  57. 

Deserters,  British,  shot  on  Common,  S3, 

34. 
Dorchester,  8n.,  27, 86. 
Douglass,  Frederick,  62. 
Drake,  Samuel  Adams,  26,  38. 
Ducket,  Valentine,  34. 
Duels  on  Common,  21. 
Dun  ton,  John,  19. 
Dyer,  Mary,  8n.,  10,  12-16. 

Edward  VII,  King,  61. 

Elgin,  Lord,  50,  51. 

Eliot,  Charles  W.,  66. 

Ellsworth,  Col.  E.  E.,  58. 

Elm,  Great,  or  Old,  10,  17,  24,  25,  67. 

Elson,  Louis  C,  61. 

Emancipation  Proclamation,  65. 

Emerson,  Ralph  Waldo,  42,  48,  57. 

Everett,  Edward,  60,  56,  61,  63. 

Everett,  William,  56. 

Executions  of  Quakers,  7-18. 

Paneuil,  Peter,  21. 

Faneuil  Hall,  31,  59. 

Fifth  Cavalry  (Mass.  Vol.),  62. 

Fifth  Regiment  (British),  32. 

Fifth  Regiment  (Mass.  Vol.),  59,  64. 

Fifty-fifth  Infantry  (Mass.  Vol.),  Q,i. 

Fifty-foiurth  (colored)  Regiment  (Mass. 

Vol.),  62. 
"Figures  of  the  Past,"  48. 
Fillmore,  Millard,  50,  51. 
Fire,  Boston  (1872),  67,  68. 
Firemen's  play-outs,  54. 
Fireworks  on  Common,  29,  30,  52,  67. 
First  Regiment  (Mass.  Vol.),  59,  60. 
Flagstaff  Hill,  21,  38,  39,  45,  51,  66. 
Food  Administration  Cottages,  77,  78. 


Index 


87 


Forbes's,  Gen.,  regiment,  29. 

Fort  Hill,  32. 

Fort  Warren,  61,  62. 

Fortifications,  British,  on  Common,  88, 

39. 
Forty-fourth  Regiment  (Mass.  Vol.),  64, 

65. 
Forty-third  Regiment  (British),  32. 
Fourteenth  Regiment  (British),  31. 
Fourth  of  July,  52,  53,  66. 
Fourth  Regiment  (British),  32,  34. 
Fourth  Regiment  (Mass.  Vol.),  69,  64. 
Fox  Hill,  38. 
Franklin,  Benjamin,  24. 
Fraser's  Highlanders,  29. 
Frog  Fond,  10,  40,  42,  49,  54,  63,  75n. 
Fusiliers,  Independent  Boston,  61. 

Gallows  Bay,  8n. 

General  Election,  34,  S5.  52,  53. 

Gettysburg,  battle  of,  65. 

Girl  Scouts,  78. 

Granary  Burying  Ground,  21. 

Green,  Dr.  Samuel  A.,  69. 

Hale,  Edward  Everett,  39,  53,  64,  56,  70- 

72. 
Hales,  John  G.,  57. 
Hamilton  Place,  24. 
Hancock,  John,  30,  31,  41. 
Hancock,  Mrs.  John,  40. 
Hancock  house,  S6,  39,  43. 
Handel  and  Haydn  Society,  70. 
"History  of  the  Twelfth  Massachusetts 

Volunteers,"  61. 
Hockey,  55. 

HollLs  Street  Church,  33. 
Holmes,  OUver  Wendell,  1,  2,  32,  42,  53. 

Stee  also  "Autocrat." 
Horse-racing,  Sunday,  on  Common,  34. 
Howe.  Gen.  William,  36,  89. 
Howell,  George  and  Nathan,  22. 

Indians  on  Common,  47,  48. 
Ingersole.  Mrs.,  2S. 


Jackson,  Andrew,  46.  47. 
"John  Brown's  Body,"  61,  68. 
Johnson,  Edward,  5. 
Josselyn,  John.  6.  7. 
Joy  Street,  47,  54-56. 

King  Street,  81. 
King's  Chapel,  7L 
Kite-flying,  65. 
Knights  of  Columbus,  76. 

Lad,  George,  16. 

Lafayette,  Marquis  de,  41,  45,  46. 

Lascelle's  regiment,  29. 

Latin  School,  5. 

La  Tour  and  French  soldiers  on  Common, 

5,6. 
LawTence.  Col.  T.  Bigelow,  6L 
Leddra.  William,  15-17. 
Lee,  Col.  Fran«ss  L.,  64, 
Lee,  Col.  Henry,  39. 
"Legend  of  Brimstone  Comer,  A,"  44. 
Lexington,  36,  59. 
"Liberty  Cottoge,"  76,  77. 
Liberty  Loan  drives,  77. 
Light  Artillery,  59. 
Lincoln,  Abraham,  death  of,  66. 
"  Long  Coast,"  65. 
Long  Mall,  57. 
Long  Path,  57. 
Long  Wharf.  SI. 
Longfellow,  Henry  W.,  28. 
Luuisburg  Expedition.  27,  28. 
Lovett,  James  D'Wolf,  55. 
Lowell,  James  Russell,  49. 

"Madison  War,"  the,  41. 

Mascarene,  Paul,  26. 

Massachusetts  Agricultural  College,  78. 

Massachusetts  Charitable  Mechanics  As- 
sociation, 68. 

Massachusetts  Historical  Society,  25. 

Massachusetts  Public  Safety  Coomiittee, 
77. 

Mayor's  Reception  Committee,  77. 


88 


Index 


Michaelson,  marshal,  10. 
Millmore,  Martin,  66. 
Monument,  Anny  and  Navj',  66. 
Monument   Hill.     See   Flagstaff    Hill. 

Soldiers'  Monument. 
Mount  Vernon  Street,  42. 
Muster,  annual,  52. 

National  Civic  Federation,  77. 
"National  Music  of  America,  The,"  61. 
"New  England  Boyhood,  A,"  53. 
New  England  Guards,  45. 
"New  South"  Church,  22. 
"Nigger  'Lection,"  53.  ■ 
North  End,  13,  20. 

"Old  Boston  Boys  and  the  Games  they 

Played,"  55. 
Oliver,  Capt.  James,  9. 
Oliver,  Elder  Thomas,  4. 
Osliaba,  Russian  war  vessel,  65. 
OUs,  Mayor  Harrison  G.,  42. 
Ox  roasted  on  Common,  85. 

Parade  Ground,  51,  52,  68. 

Park  Square,  3,  4n.,  69. 

Park  Street,  3,  41,  57,  68. 

Park  Street  Church,  48,  44,  62. 

Park  Street  MaU,  41,  60,  56,  66. 

Parkman,  Francis,  6. 

Parkman,  George  F.,  72,  73, 

Parkmian  fimd,  74. 

"Peace  Jubilee,"  67. 

Pepperell,  Sir  William,  27. 

Percy,  Hugh,  Earl,  32,  36,  87. 

Perkins  brothers,  54. 

Phillips,  Henry,  21. 

Phillips,  Wendell,  28. 

Pinckney  Street,  3. 

Pitcaim,  Major  John.  37. 

Playground,  the  Common  as  a,  54-56;  on 

Common,  75. 
Pollard,  Col.  Benjamin,  28. 
"Pope  Day,"  20. 
Prince  of  Wales  on  Boston  Common,  51. 


Pro\'idence  Station,  60. 
Pubhc  Garden.  22,  38,  51. 
Pimch  and  Judy  shows,  53. 

Quakers,  execution  of,  7-18. 
Quincy,  Josiah  (1st  Mayor  Q.),  41. 
Quincy,  Josiah  (2d  Mayor  Q.),  46,  49. 

Rafferty,  Patrick,  63. 
"Railroad  Jubilee,"  50,  51. 
Rantoul,  Robert  S.,  49. 
Readville,  65. 

Recruiting  on  Common,  62,  63,  76. 
Red  Cross,  American,  76,  77. 
Renfrew,  Lord,  51. 

Revolution,  War  of,  uses  of  Common  dur- 
ing, 31-40. 
Richmond,  fall  of,  65,  66. 
Robinson,  William,  8n.,  9-18. 
Round  Marsh,  4. 
Rowe,  John,  20,  30,  35. 
Royal  Scots  Regiment,  29. 
Ruggles,  Mrs.,  23. 
Russian  War  vessels,  65. 

Saint-Gaudens,  Augustus,  62. 
Salvation  Army,  76. 
Sargent,  Lucius  Manlius,  33. 
"Schoolmistress,"  "Autocrat"  and,  21, 

57. 
Second  Battalion  (Mass.  Inf.),  61. 
Sentry  Hill,  5.     Sec  also  Gentry  Hill. 
Sewall,  Judge  Samuel,  6,  8n.,  19,  70,  71. 
Shaw,  Col.  Robert  Gould,  62. 
Sheemess,  man-of-war,  21. 
Shepard,  Mrs.,  23. 
Shiloh,  battle  of,  65. 
Shurtleff,  Nathaniel  B.,  8n.,  26,  55. 
Sixth  Regiment  (Mass.  Vol.),  59,  64. 
Sixty-fifth  Regiment  (British),  81. 
Skating,  22,  54. 
Smart,  Capt.  Thomas,  21. 
Smith,  Lt.-Col.  Francis,  37. 
Smokers'  Retreat  or  Circle,  57. 
Soldiers'  Monument,  21,  39,  66. 


Index 


89 


South  Bay,  8n. 
South  End,  20. 
"Spinning  Craze,"  24,  25, 
Spruce  Street,  3. 
Stamp  Act,  repeal  of,  29,  SO, 
State  House,  43,  47.  48,  59,  62,  70,  71, 
State  Street.  31.  61. 
Stevenson.  Mannaduke,  9-13. 
Storey,  Mrs.,  23. 
Story.  Thomas.  8n. 
Street-car  problems.  68. 
Subway,  41.  68,  09. 

"Survey  of   Boston   and   its  Vicinity," 
57, 

Tea  Party,  31,  32, 

Thu-d  Regfanent  (Mass.  Vol.)  59,  64. 

Thirty-eighth  Regiment  (British).  32. 

Thirty-third  Regunent  (Mass.  Vol.),  63. 

"Tigers,  The."  61. 

Training-field,  3,  26,  52,  54. 

Tremont  Street,  26,  57,  68 ;  widening   of, 

75. 
Tremont  Street  Mall,  26,  39,  41,  43,  50, 

52,  55.  57. 
Twelfth  Regiment  (Mass.  Vol.),  60,  61. 
Twenty-ninth  Regiment  (British),  31.] 

United    States    Interdepartmental    Hy- 
gienic Board,  76. 

Van  Buren,  Martin,  46,  47. 

Vicksburg,  fall  of,  65. 

Vitiaz,  Russian  war  vessel,  65. 


Walker,  Robert,  4. 

Walking  on  and  round  Common,  56.  57, 
War  Camp  Community  Service,  76. 
War  Service  Committee,  76. 
Washington,   George,   statue  in  Public 

Garden,  51, 
"Water  Celebration,"  48,  49. 
Watts,  Dr.  Isaac,  22. 
Webb.  Capt.  John.  14. 
Webb's  regiment,  29. 
Webster,  Daniel.  56. 
Webster,  Fletcher,  60,  61. 
Webster  Regiment,  60,  61. 
Wendell.  Col.  Jacob,  27. 
West  Street,  50,  55,  62,  63,  69. 
WTiitefield,  Rev.  George,  22-24. 
^Vhitman,  Walt,  57. 
Wliittlesey,  Lt.-Col,  77, 
Wilkie,  Thomas,  16, 
Wilson,  Rev.  John,  So..  10-18. 
Winter  Street,  71. 
Winthrop,  John.  2. 
Winthrop,  Robert  C,  60,  6S. 
Wishing  Stone,  54. 
Withington,  Ebenezer,  36. 
Woodbridge,  Benjamin.  21, 
Women's  City  Club.  77,  78. 
Women's  Municipal  League.  77,  78. 
World  War,  the,  use  of  the  Commoa  in 

connectioa  with.  75-80. 

Young  Men's  Christian  Association,  76. 
Zouaves,  Ellsworth's,  58. 


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